


Jeeves and the Unrequited Feelings

by Niektete (therealfroggy)



Category: Jeeves & Wooster
Genre: Angst, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 11:01:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealfroggy/pseuds/Niektete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bertie never knew love and physical intimacy aren't necessarily inseparable. Jeeves is about to reeducate him, even though it breaks Bertie's heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Declaration

I know it is somewhat of a habit of mine to rather rush into the action when telling a story, but I hereby intend to break that habit, in a very stern manner. The situation calls for sternness. I shall now relate a very particular chapter in the life of this Bertam Wilberforce, last of the Woosters, as Jeeves would have said. And it is just him, that is to say, Jeeves, who is the fatal point – oh, sorry, focal point, he tells me – of this story.

Actually, I didn't ask Jeeves what sort of point he was to the story about to be told. He doesn't know I'm writing down this particular story at all; I merely asked him if fatal point was the word I wanted. He's marvellous like that, you know; there is no word in the Queen's English he doesn't know.

Well, as I was saying, I'll start at the beginning this time, so no confusion ensues.

I don't think Jeeves had been in my employ for more than a few months before I realized I was rather besotted with him. I mean to say, the man has a brain the size of an ocean liner, a mysterious air of shimmering to and fro, finely chiselled features and a knack for bringing me tea, cocktails or other restoratives in the very hour of need. He is, in short, a paragon among men, and I think a chap would have been hard pressed _not_ to fall head over spats for him.

I knew when he rescued me from la Basset for the umpeenth time that I loved him. And I realized, of course, that when the object of one's affections is also a chap, caution is called for. I mean, one does not go about bunging the news at people's feet, like one would have done if the o. in question was a female. So rather than the bowed knee and the reading of sonnets and the asking for a father's blessing, there was, well, nothing, I'm afraid. I didn't dare broach the subj. with him, nor with any of my friends and relations.

Things carried on in this manner for quite some weeks, I'm afraid. He must have known something was amiss, for Jeeves has always been apt at reading the young master like an open book, as he says. But nothing was said, until one night, when I could bear the strain no longer. One could say the tender pash had reached its boiling whatsit. What happened, was this.

Jeeves had just come in with my scotch-and-soda, and as he bent down to put it on the table next to me, I suddenly had a marvellous idea. I should kiss Jeeves. This, if nothing else, would at least convince him that I was pining away for him. So I did. I, rather forcefully, I must admit, grabbed a hold of Jeeves' black tie and pulled him to me before I decisively mashed our lips together.

Well, I can hear you yelling from the galleries, was this the gentlemanly thing to do, Wooster? One normally likes to warn the recipient of a French kiss that such a k. is imminent. But I was not what you may call level-headed at the time. All I could think of, was how nice Jeeves' lips looked just then.

So I kissed him, and steeled myself for a sock in the eye. But wonder of wonders, no s. in the e. ever made its appearance. Instead, Jeeves pulled away to look at me briefly, then the corners of his mouth twitched in that little almost-smile of his, and he kissed me back.

After that, I'm afraid, things progressed rather, well, ungentlemanlike. Jeeves arched an eyebrow and proceeded to the master bedroom, and I followed him rather like a puppy after its long lost owner. Upon entering said bedroom, Jeeves began unbuttoning and untying and what have you until we were both quite naked, and I did nothing to help – I was so overcome with delirious relief.

Jeeves loves me, I thought! Jeeves is going to take me to bed!

And he did. Jeeves was gentle that night; he showed me all manners of wonderful things. Not a word was said, except when I cried his name as he brought me off, and I fell asleep with the scent of him still lingering around me.

***

When I woke the next morning, however, he was gone. Confused, I turned around in bed, and I was almost convinced it was all a dream when I found one of his dark hairs on the pillow next to mine. He had been there, that much was certain.

And suddenly, the door soundlessly opened and Jeeves manifested himself, breakfast tray in hand as always. And dressed, as always, immaculately in black and starched white.

The sight did something odd to the Wooster heart. It sank it, quite frankly. Jeeves' features were politely cold, as they always are, and he looked, well, he looked as if he hadn't been touched. This disturbed me not a little, since I had some quite fruity memories of touching him just the night before.

“Jeeves?” I asked. I'll admit that my voice betrayed my somewhat baffled feelings.

“Good morning, sir. There is a letter for you, presumably from Mrs Travers. Shall I ready your bath, sir?” he said, bunging the tray down in my lap.

“My bath, Jeeves?” I repeated.

How, I asked myself, could he be calling me sir and bunging tea about when we had – not twelve hours previously, I should think – been rolling about on the bed in ecstatic, carnal delights? Should he even have dressed, I asked myself, rather than staying naked in bed with the young master until said y. m. woke up and, perhaps, felt equal to another round or two?

“Your bath, sir. I shall prepare it directly. Will that be all, sir?” Jeeves said, and I could only nod dumbly, so bally lost was I.

After getting myself outside a few pieces of toast and some tea, I went about my morning toilette in quite a state. The rubber duck lay forgotten, I barely remembered to apply the _eau de cologne_ , and I almost put on black tie with my ordinary suit which Jeeves had laid out for me. I noticed he had laid out a dark blue, sombre affair of a tie, and sighed.

It seemed Jeeves had not changed at all, despite our heated entanglements the night before. I, in contrast, was rather torn up, I don't mind saying. On the one hand, one must remember that I had spent the night with Jeeves, adored of Wooster, B. for many a month. That was rather a ray of sunlight, and I felt that celebration was in order. On the other hand, Jeeves seemed not to remember the night at all. This put a distinct damper on the sunlight.

I heaved the old corpus into the sitting room, and looked about. Everything was spotless, as usual. It looked rather too familiar, if you get me. After one has declared oneself to the love of one's life, and been accepted, I feel things rather ought to have a different outlook, what? I mean to say, one expects a certain chirpiness of the world. Flowers and sunlight and whatnot.

“Jeeves?” I called, scratching the melon.

Jeeves shimmered into being again. “Sir?”

“Do you, er, remember anything, Jeeves?”

“Sir?”

“I mean, about yesterday.”

“I believe my memory still serves, yes, sir.”

“Then why aren't there flowers and sunlight, Jeeves?”

“Sir?”

“Oh, dash it, what about last night, Jeeves?”

Jeeves paused, looking at me, his eyes not gleaming so much as merely observing me. His hands were politely clasped behind his back, and I wished that for once he wouldn't be so dashed polite. I would rather he sweep me into his arms and call me Bertie and throw me onto the sofa.

“What of it, sir?”

I was quite knocked for a loop. It took some minutes before I could gather my wits enough to splutter, “What of it, Jeeves? Dash it, man, didn't we spend last night in my bed?”

“We did indeed, sir.”

“But Jeeves! Then why are you calling me sir and bunging tea about?”

Jeeves' expression turned rather overbearing then. I don't think anyone else would have noticed it, but he looked almost as if he was going to tell an obstinate child why it could not have its sweets.

“I was not under the impression, sir, that anything happened last night save our indiscretions?”

I gaped at the man. “But everything happened, Jeeves! We... we made love!”

“If you'll pardon the liberty, sir, I beg to differ. We had carnal intercourse. I do not recall love ever entering into the equation, sir,” Jeeves said.

I had never had such a nasty shock; not even when Madeline Basset first informed me she was going to marry me.

“Jeeves!” I gasped.

“I am sorry if your perception of the event differs from mine, sir. However, it was never my intention to enter into any sort of understanding. My response to your initiative was purely carnal, sir,” he said. If valets had sneered, Jeeves would have been sneering. Derisively, at that.

The mind reeled. I sank into the nearest chair, looking up at Jeeves in horror.

“You regret last night, then, Jeeves?” I asked, dreading the answer.

“By no means, sir. I highly enjoyed the occurrence. I merely accept it for what it was; a comfortable fuck. If I might make the suggestion, sir, it could save us some discomfort if you were to accept this as well.”

I had very nearly jumped out of my seat when he said the word “fuck”. I had never known Jeeves to even say dash it, and here he was, using the very coarsest language I'd ever heard in London streets! One was shocked, one was in inner turm-something!

“Will that be all, sir?” Jeeves asked, as feudal as ever.

***

Well, that was how it all began. Jeeves, being Jeeves, didn't change one bit. He remained the brainiest cove this side of the Atlantic ocean, if not on all sides of it, and performed his valeting duties to perfection. No one else noticed any change, either, though it would have been wrong of me to claim that yours truly was as dapper and cheerful as usual. The Drones lads were all cheery, my aunts were still a menace to the public, and you would think that God was in his h. and that all was r. in the world.

One night, about a week or so after Jeeves had taken me to bed, I was about to despair of the situation. That one taste of paradise, if you'll pardon the soppiness, had done nothing to change my feelings for my man. Rather, that night had only intensified my desire for him, because I now knew the physical delights of Jeeves, as well as the wonders of his brain and soul.

These wonders, you must remembered, were highly praised by all and sundry whenever Jeeves had one of his corkers, but no one of my acquaintance save myself had discovered the glory of Jeeves in the flesh, so to speak. And now, every time someone mentioned my man Jeeves and his fine brain, I could not help but think that that brain was only half of the godlike man I had known for one, brief night.

It was a desolate Bertram who donned the pyjamas Jeeves had laid out that night, and I will freely admit I looked mournfully at my man as he shimmered 'round the room, readying everything before retiring for the evening.

“Jeeves,” I began, and paused. How did one go about such matters, I wondered? Did one speak plainly and tell him one longed for another taste of his kiss, or did one smile shyly and coyly invite him to share the covers? I did, after all, want him more than anything.

“Sir?”

“Jeeves, I – would you – oh,” I finished in agony, for Jeeves' mouth had quirked at the corners and I couldn't look at him again without feeling heatwaves and what have you rush through the Wooster blood.

Jeeves moved to my side, though still standing at a respectful distance from the bed, and arched an eyebrow. “Yes, sir?”

“Please come to bed with me,” I finally asked. A braver man might have met his eyes, but I did not. I kept my e.s firmly fixed on the bedlinen. I had once more placed my heart in Jeeves' hands, and inwardly begged him not to crush it. The heat on my cheeks was, undoubtedly, resulting in a rather impressive colour.

“Gladly, sir,” Jeeves replied, and began untying his tie.

The Wooster heart soared. He did not regret our past, oh, what did he call it... indiscretions! Of course, he'd told me he didn't – regret them, that is – but the Wooster heart had harboured doubts over the following week. He had been so bally normal!

I grinned at him, and Jeeves quickly divested himself of all his togs. Then he slid under the covers with me, and quickly divested me of mine, too. Jeeves kissed me, and I kissed him back, and before I knew it, I found myself lying on my stomach, Jeeves hovering over me, spreading my legs.

He didn't speak this time, either. Jeeves' fingers were slick when they touched the skin between my buttocks, and I recognized the substance from our previous encounter. It was some sort of oily stuff Jeeves put on the skin, and dashed good of him, too – otherwise I think it would rather hurt when he entered me.

He wasn't quite so gentle with me this time. Of course, Jeeves would never hurt the young master, but there was a definite sting as his manhood entered me. I buried my face in the pillow and bit back the whimper that threatened at the back of my throat. This was _Jeeves_ ; this was my man, my brilliant, wonderful man, nipping gently at my shoulder and moving slowly inside me. Whimpering is not the sort of noise one ought to make in such a sitch.

I'm afraid I rather moaned a lot. Jeeves was almost silent, save his shuddering breaths and the occasional deep groan. His fingers felt solid on my hips, and I fancied they were anchoring us together. I relished how they tightened when Jeeves began moving faster.

The bed creaked, and Jeeves began – well, rutting is the only word – rutting against me. I clenched the pillow beneath my cheek and felt him driving into me repeatedly. He gasped and trembled against me, his stomach pressed against my lower back, and I knew he had climaxed. Then he slid a hand across my chest, pulled me with him to lie on our sides, and curled his big hand around my hardness.

I moaned appreciatively as Jeeves begun stroking me. I could feel his own spent member slip from my body, but his hot breath on my shoulder and his touch on my skin was more than enough for me. I arched into his touch, thinking that this must certainly be paradise all over again.

“Jeeves!” I cried, and his fingers played over me again and again until I spent myself over them, shuddering in Jeeves' embrace. He stroked me throughout my climax, and with the euphoric sensations overwhelming me, I uttered what I had not told him the last time we made love.

“I love you, Jeeves.”

Jeeves' warmth disappeared. His touch left me. Still feeling utterly braced after my release, I turned around to find him. I found him efficiently but unhurriedly redressing. He smoothed his hair back before buttoning up his shirt.

“J-Jeeves?” I stuttered. “Aren't you... won't you stay the night?”

“I hardly think that advisable, sir,” Jeeves said, his voice calm and smooth. “I rise at six to begin my morning duties. It would disturb your sleep, sir.”

“But... But Jeeves!” I protested. Dash it, this was the second time he had come to my bed, and he still did not want to sleep in it? And I could not help but feel a sting as I noticed that, despite my vocal declaration of love, not even a kiss had been forthcoming.

Jeeves, now dressed in everything except his black coat, looked at me with a sort of half-frown forming on his handsome face. “Sir, I am afraid I did not make myself clear the last time we addressed this issue. I harbour no romantic feelings for you, though I find you desirable and your company enjoyable. If you cannot separate physical intimacy from illusions of love, sir, then I suggest we do not repeat this occurrence.”

Many men would no doubt hesitate to admit such a thing, but I almost felt a certain dampening of the eyes at this statement. There are some things simply too hard for a man to hear without shedding a tear or two.

“But I love you, Jeeves,” I said. My voice, undoubtedly, was a shadow of its former self.

“If you'll pardon me for saying so, sir, I do not believe in love. I do not believe fucking is an extension of any form of finer feelings, sir, only the natural conclusion of our animal urges,” Jeeves said, and I flinched to once more hear him utter that word. It seemed bally wrong, what?

“But you... you don't mind sharing a bed with the young master?” I asked.

Jeeves' face remained impassive. “I prefer sleeping in my own bed, sir. But I would not be adverse to engaging in carnal relations with you, as I find them highly enjoyable. Provided, of course, that you do not mistake my pleasure for any romantic feelings, sir.”

The heart crumbled, bled and gave up the fight altogether. I swallowed against a lump the size of a cricket ball forming in my throat.

“Well, then I suppose... goodnight, Jeeves,” I said.

“Goodnight, sir. I shall wake you at your customary hour with tea,” he said.

And just like that, he biffed off, turning out the lights and closing the door. I didn't bother putting my pyjamas back on, but put my face into the pillow again and tried to sleep. Perhaps I would wake up and find it was all a bad dream.


	2. Heart of Steel

You may be surprised to learn that I did not last more than three days before I once more asked Jeeves to come to my bed. I mean to say, here one has been celibate all one's life, and then suddenly one cannot last a week without physical intimacy. It's a rum thing, I know, but I found that the second time I'd, well, _had_ Jeeves had also increased my need for him, rather than sating it, as one should think.

The next time, however, I did not tell him that I loved him. I cried out his name again when carried away by the pleasure, true, but I refrained from using that word he seemed to dislike so much. And after, he redressed and returned to his own quarters. The next morning he brought me my tea, and all was back to the old way of things.

Of course, I knew that I was doing myself no little harm. Those moments in Jeeves' arms were like heaven, and I could never get enough of his taste and touch – both of which I experienced vividly that night – but when he carelessly left me after we were both satisfied, and I was left to relive the experience in my too-large, empty bed, the heart ached again. I knew he did not love me, and thought of our encounters as nothing but urges or what he called it, and it hurt to know that I would never be to him what he was to me.

But still, I knew I loved him, and would never love anyone else. A man knows these things, you know, when he has found the love of his life. I would never want anyone else, either. So what little Jeeves deigned to share with me, seemed infinitely better than nothing. And perhaps, over time, I thought, my heart would become as steely as Jeeves' seemed, and it would not hurt anymore.

Not that the man was cruel, mind you; he's never cruel, save for when sending the young master on bicycle rides in the middle of the night. Jeeves always pleased me in bed, and his brain was in fine form, as always. He went about his duties without fail, and in all other respects, things continued as they had always been. The only difference was that now my heart ached for him, and my body was growing desperate for him more and more often.

I asked – at times even begged, though there was no need for begging – Jeeves to share my bed several times every week over the next month or two, and he always did. But while he remained aloof, probably still convinced love did not exist, I grew more and more heartbroken.

The trouble was, I could not make myself stop. My body craved his b. as much as my heart wanted his affections.

One night, I decided to ask Jeeves' advice. If he could carry on as if nothing had happened every time we had been entwined in the most intimate way, perhaps there was a trick to it. I tried to act casual and debonair, and went ahead and asked him.

“Jeeves,” I said, when he came into the room with my evening b. and s. “This love business... You're sure it doesn't exist?”

He almost looked wary for a second, but before I could really see it, the emotion disappeared and he was once more inscrutable.

“Science and the arts offer various theories on the subject, of course, sir, but I believe it is essentially a state of mind that cause individuals to behave irrationally. Surely, sir you have observed your various acquaintances when they believe themselves to be _in love_. One hesitates to criticise, of course, but their behaviour lends credit to my view.”

“Ah, well,” I said. “Not for you, eh, old thing?”

If the voice was not steady as a rock at this point, it can be excused. These were hardly good tidings for Bertram.

“Everyone suffers from idealistic folly in their youth, sir,” Jeeves said. “But right-thinking men can outgrow these notions.”

Well, I'm not the brightest of coves, but we Woosters can think fast when the occasion warrants it. If everyone suffered from idealistic follies in their youth, then Jeeves, too, must have done so. Namely, he, too must have been in love at some point. And if one believed what he said – and one is inclined never to doubt in Jeeves, if one knows him – then he had apparently outgrown it. Outgrown love, as if it was some odd fascination with the latest hit from the music hall stage.

Now, I didn't know exactly how old Jeeves was, but I should guess he had about eight or ten years on the young master. And in this time, he had managed to outgrow the agonies of love, one reasoned. By this formula, my heart, cracked and aching though it was, would become chilled steel in a matter of very few years.

“Oh,” I said, brightening up a little. True, I had never felt so miserable in my entire life, but the thought that it might not last for more than a year or two was an uplifting one. If one could make it through these few years of hell, I reasoned, one would be free to enjoy Jeeves' touches – heartbreak or no heartbreak.

True, the scheme didn't _feel_ very sound. The Wooster feelings were wounded, and they insisted that love would never wither and die, as it had clearly not done so after Jeeves expressly told me he did not love me. But when Jeeves presents one with a solution, of any sort, one is inclined to take it.

I waited for my love to pass, still asking Jeeves into my bed all too often, and tried to ignore how it stung whenever he left said bed and returned to the normal state of things. And we carried on like this for quite some time; “fucking”, as Jeeves would call it, in the evenings, and living life as a gentleman and his valet should at all other times.

Then Rocky came to London.


	3. Comfort

Rocky Todd, the American poet that Jeeves and I helped out of an aunt situation a while ago, came to England to get a new perspective, he told me in his letter, for his poems. He was staying at a hotel, and as soon as I got a telegram asking if I'd show him around London, I donned the soup-and-fish and told Jeeves I would be eating out.

“Very good, sir,” said Jeeves pleasantly, and went about polishing the silver.

Rocky and I had a topping time. I know he's not very fond of cities of any description, so I took him to dinner rather than going 'round the clubs. Then we popped in at the Drones for a late drink, and he told me he'd like me to join him when he was going for a stroll in Hyde Park the next day. I toodle-pipped him off, and went home to the flat.

Jeeves stayed in his own bed that night; I didn't feel quite like subjecting myself to another round of internal stabbing knives after such a pleasant evening with Rocky.

The next afternoon, I took Rocky to the park after a very late lunch, and we ankled around for a fairish bit, passing the Speaker's Corner and making a stop there, as Rocky wanted to hear what the fellow on the box was on about.

“This is democracy, Bertie; this is the freedom of speech!” Rocky said eagerly, gesturing to the bloke talking hotly about Working Class Revolutionaries and Regulated Working Hours.

“Oh, ah, rather,” I said, looking listlessly at the grassy field where strollers, dogs and children were milling about.

“Bertie, is something wrong? You don't seem like yourself,” Rocky said, patting me on the shoulder.

I shrugged. “Oh, this and that, you know; life's many vers.. visci... versomethings. One gets by, Rocky, old chap.”

Rocky tugged on my arm. “Come on, Bertie; you can tell me. Something's really bothering you, isn't it?”

Something was, of course. The whole matter re. Jeeves was troubling the Wooster mind, and it had been doing so for quite some time. And I had no one to talk to about it all. But one does not go about bandying a valet's name, nor does one openly admit to being an invert – at least not in the middle of Hyde Park.

“I'm afraid it's a rather delicate matter, Rocky,” I said. “I mean to say, privacy and your word that it will go no further, are required before I can breathe a word of it.”

Rocky's eyebrows rose, and I was sharply reminded of Jeeves, who also does that thing with his eyebrows – though far more subtly than Rocky, of course.

“Of course, Bertie. Let's go back to my hotel. I can have some wine sent up to the room, if you need it,” he said.

And so we proceeded to Rocky's hotel, and he proceeded to order the wine. He poured us both a full glass before I began my tale. We were situated on his bed, sans dinner jackets, for lack of better sitting arrangements. Jeeves would certainly not have approved of the standard of the room.

“Well, it's like this, you see. I'm frightfully in love with someone,” I explained.

Rocky smiled. “That's not so bad, Bertie! Just tell her how you feel, and pop the question! She'll be ordering the wedding cake within a week.”

I shuddered. “Oh, no, Rocky. The wedding bells will never ring out for Bertram, and I don't want them to, either. You see, I'm not in love with a filly. Er, it's Jeeves. You know, my man.”

Rocky's eyes bulged. “You too, huh? It's a strange world.”

I was startled. “What? You mean, you're in love with him, too?”

Rocky quickly shook his head. “No, no, Bertie! I mean, you're a homosexual. Me too, Bertie. So have no fears about me revealing your secret.”

Well, that was a relief. I had rather counted on him keeping the secret, but it was nice to know that one was not alone in these things. Though I'd never considered myself particularly attracted to fillies, I'd never considered myself attracted to coves, either. Until I met Jeeves, of course. That man can be somewhat of an eye-opener.

“Well, ah, splendid,” I said. “But still, I am hopelessly in love with Jeeves, old thing, and what's worse, he and I... um... we, well, we have become rather more intimate than a man should be with his valet, if you get me.”

Rocky's eyes bulged again. “You mean you're sleeping with him?”

“That's exactly the rub, Rocky,” I said. “I'm not. We do business, but then he leaves the shop, if you understand. He's told me he doesn't love me at all; it's all physical to him. And I had to stop telling him I love him, or he wouldn't have... um. Or I wouldn't even have him in my bed for an hour or so before he leaves.”

I was probably blushing, but in a manly way, I should imagine.

Rocky was silent for a while. Then he drained his glass of wine.

“You mean,” he said, “he'll fuck you, but he's not in love with you?”

And there was that ghastly word again. I was beginning to hate that word, but not because it sounded vulgar and forward in the American's mouth. I hated it because it sounded so careless in Jeeves' mouth.

“Precisely, old bean. I love him, and I've told him as much, but he insists love is some youthful thing one outgrows and that we're simply...”

“Having a good time,” Rocky supplied.

“Yes, I suppose you could say that. But I'm not having such a terribly good time after all, Rocky, because it bally well hurts!” I said, and dash it if a sad tone hadn't entered my voice again.

Rocky put a consoling arm around my shoulders. “Oh, Bertie, that's too bad,” he said. “But you have to stop it. You can't go around hurting yourself like this. Just tell him no, Bertie; find someone else. Someone who loves you back.”

“But I can't, Rocky,” I said, burying my face in my hands. “I love him, and I don't think I'll ever stop loving him. And I need him, Rocky; I can't cope without him.”

Rocky's hand slid into my hair, ruffling it gently. “You got it bad, huh?”

I sighed and let myself fall back against the pillows that were scattered haphazardly on the bed cover. “I've got it all too bad, Rocky. And I wish I didn't have it at all.”

“Well, maybe you should, I don't know, spend less time with him?” Rocky suggested. “Or start sleeping with someone else as a distraction? I mean, you've always been a little too dependant on Jeeves, Bertie, and now you see where it's landed you.”

He flopped onto the mattress next to me, leaning his melon on one hand.

“My aunt Agatha keeps telling me that,” I said morosely. “But he's the lodestar of my life. I'll be dashed if I could say how I'd ever get on without him. And who would I ever get in bed with, Rocky, except Jeeves?”

“Me,” said Rocky quietly, and kissed me.

Rocky Todd, I can tell you, is an excellent kisser. It's the sense of warmth, you see, that fills one when his lips are pressed against one's own. Rocky kissed me very gently, not even pressing his tongue into my mouth, and his fingers were just messing about a little with my hair, and stroking over my cheekbone.

I let him kiss me for quite some time before I remembered why I shouldn't.

“Rocky, don't,” I pleaded, turning my face from him. “I love Jeeves!”

“And Jeeves doesn't love you back,” Rocky said, and kissed me lightly on the cheek. “I'm not saying this is love, because it's not. But I care for you, Bertie, and you haven't made any promises to anyone. Would it really be so terrible?”

He placed his palm on my cheek, and that felt so dashed soothing I snuggled into it. “It wouldn't be terrible at all, Rocky, I'm sure. But I don't want to... to, ah, well, _fuck_ anyone else. It seems wrong, doesn't it, to go about engaging in physical intimacy with all and sundry without actually loving one another, what?”

Rocky kissed me on the cheek again. That felt rather nice, too.

“There's fucking and there's having fun, Bertie. Won't you stay the night? Large beds always seem lonely to me, when there's only one person in them,” Rocky said.

I'd quite forgotten that he was a poet. That must have been from some job of his; it sounded quite poetic, and it struck a chord within the Wooster breast.

“They do, don't they?” I pondered. “Just look at my bed back in the flat. It's large enough for three, if one didn't mind lying close together, and yet it's always so bally empty.”

Rocky smiled a little at me. “Mm.” And then he kissed me again, on the mouth this time, and began fiddling with my tie. Then he fiddled with my buttons. And before I knew it, he was fiddling with just about everything, leaving both my waistcoat and shirt open as his hand lay warm and soft on my skin.

As I tried to repay the favour and get Rocky out of his own shirt (he hadn't quite grasped the idea of proper clothing yet, and wore only an ordinary, soft-breasted shirt and not a waistcoat), I thought of what Jeeves would say to this. Would he mind me allowing Rocky to take me to bed?

Would he care at all?

“Not bally likely,” I muttered sourly, and Rocky gave me an odd sort of glance before we went on ridding each other of our togs.

I've said before that Jeeves always pleased me in bed. But he never did it with the caring attention that Rocky showed me that night; he never demonstrated any level of emotion at all. Rocky, on the other hand, was overflowing with both.

“Oh, Bertie,” he sighed in a brief intermission between kisses. Kicking our tangled trousers and braces off the bed, he quickly reached down to tug our socks off. He kissed my ankles, my calves, my knees and then my thighs as he moved back up. “You're gorgeous, you know that?”

Well, I say! I blushed, naturally, but Rocky would have nothing of it.

“No, really, you're a beauty,” he said, and bypassed my hardness, but kissed my hip bones and my tummy before aligning our bodies to kiss my lips again. “I can't decide which part of you I like best. How do you want to...”

I ought to have thought of Jeeves at this point, I admit. But Jeeves wouldn't have blinked an eye at finding Rocky in my bed, I thought, nor on hearing that I'd decided to marry Rocky or some such. I decided right then and there not to think about Jeeves at all, because as much as I loved him, he didn't care two sticks about me.

Rocky nibbled and kissed my neck, gently and with just enough wetness to make shivers run down my spine.

“You... you do the dominant bit,” I said, and opened my legs for him. I'd never buggered a man before, and I wasn't about to start with Rocky.

Rocky moaned and pressed against me, our erections trapped between our bodies, and his hands stroke over my skin in such a wonderful way I could only sigh.

“You really want that, Bertie? You want me to...”

I was rather relieved when he didn't use that horrible word again, and I nodded. “You wouldn't happen to have any oil handy, would you?”

Rocky's right hand left my skin for a moment to fumble about in the bedside drawer. “Oh, yeah, I've got petroleum jelly here somewhere...”

There was something very charming about the way Rocky frowned in concentration as he looked down on my body, jar of p. j. in hand. He had about him a rather serious air, but once he seemed to have figured things all out, he broke into a wide smile.

“You're really very attractive, Bertie,” he told me softly. Then he went about the business of preparing both himself and me with the jelly.

I was still on my back, and this unsettled me somewhat – Jeeves and I were never so close when we were in bed. Never face to face, as I believe the expression goes. It made my encounter with Rocky feel very intimate, and no less so when he kissed me deeply just as he entered me. He pressed his body against mine and kept kissing me and caressing my skin, and it all felt so wonderful.

“Bertie, Bertie, Bertie,” he kept whispering.

My arms wound around Rocky's waist quite of their own volition, and I couldn't help myself touching him. His thrusts were gentle, and his kisses and whispered endearments were all so comforting. I buried my face in his neck when I came off, whimpering his name.

Rocky cried my name a few heartbeats later, pumping into me erratically. He nuzzled the tender skin of my neck, and, after a few minutes, barely staggered out of bed to turn the lights off before returning to pull the covers up over us both. He pulled me to him before we fell asleep, kissing the palm of my hand one last time.


	4. Poetic

When I woke up rather late the next morning, I found Rocky snoring lightly and using my arm as a pillow. The a. felt rather numb, actually, but he looked so endearing lying there that I let him carry on in the land of Nod. I set about thinking of how to present this situation to Jeeves.

Undoubtedly he'd wonder where I'd gotten to, since I normally return to the flat every night, no matter how late the hour got before I disentangled myself from various parties and clubs. But being the perfect valet, he would never ask me where I'd been, only look at me with a slightly questioning eyebrow. And I wasn't sure if he'd even care, once he found out I hadn't landed myself in the soup and thus wouldn't be requiring his skills to fish me out of it. The soup, I mean.

I saw no point in lying to Jeeves about my whereabouts. He'd made it clear that he and I were not in any sort of arrangement, so I considered myself at liberty to do whatever I dashed well pleased. But at the thought of looking Jeeves in the eye and telling him that I had spent the night in Rocky Todd's bed, the Wooster insides gave a nasty flutter. One baulks, you understand, at throwing such a thing in the face of the man one loves.

Just then Rocky sighed and slid a sleepy hand up my side, and I remembered just why I'd gone and let Rocky have his way with me in the first place. Jeeves didn't return my sentiments.

“Morning, Bertie,” Rocky said, blinking. His hair was tousled, falling into his eyes.

“You're going back to America, aren't you?” I asked, pensively.

Rocky rolled over until he could lie pressed close to my side. “Mm. But not for another five days. Why, you wanna come with me?”

“Sorry, old top, but I'll stay in the old country. I was just wondering, you see, because I wouldn't want you to...” I trailed off.

“Get hurt?” Rocky said, looking at me with a small smile. “Nah, don't worry, Bertie. I like you a lot. But I'm not in love with you.”

Well, that was good. Never let it be said that Bertram does not care for the wellness of his friends; if I had managed to do to Rocky what Jeeves had inadvertently done to me, I should have felt the most awful chump.

“You're not sorry about last night, are you?” Rocky asked.

“Not at all, Rocky,” I said, but winced as I recalled a conversation just like this that yours truly had had with Jeeves on the morning after our first encounter. “No, I enjoyed it very much. Thanks, old thing.”

Rocky grinned and kissed my neck briefly. “Good. Now, those Drones fellows you introduced me to, wanted me to come and tell them about American women tonight. Let's go together; I can't seem to find my way anywhere here in London.”

I assured him that I would meet him outside the hotel that evening, and started redressing. It's amazing how much more worn one's clothes become after a night on a hotel floor, rather than their respective hangers. I'm afraid I looked quite haggard when I biffed off and hailed a taxicab.

As I reached the flat, I stood for a moment outside the door, mulling the situation over. On the one hand, I felt as though I had been unfaithful to Jeeves. It had felt very pleasant, and not wrong at all, to roll about in the sheets with Rocky the night before, yet now I felt as though I was about to confess to my fiancé that I had kissed another girl on the Drones Christmas party.

This is nonsense, Wooster, I told myself. You've done nothing wrong, except if one goes by the strictest article of the law, which seems to disapprove of chaps loving other chaps. You've not caused anyone a moment's emotional distress; with perhaps the exception of yourself.

Finally, I steeled my resolve to listen to Reason rather than my instinct, and opened the door.

“What ho, Jeeves,” I called.

Jeeves materialized from the kitchen in the blink of an eye to take my hat and gloves. “Good morning, sir.”

I was almost startled. “Oh! Um, yes, good morning, Jeeves.”

I looked at his noble brow, and was once again overwhelmed by how much I loved him. I swallowed, and looked at the carpet instead. “I don't suppose you could procure something along the lines of luncheon for the young master, what?”

“Certainly, sir. Shall I draw you a bath while you wait?” Jeeves asked, taking in my disrumpled state with his famous sartorial eye. “I will see to the creases in your evening costume as well, sir.”

“Ah, yes, Jeeves, a bath will be fine,” I said. I was about to confess all, but then Jeeves simply inclined his head and biffed off to the bathroom.

Well, it was obvious the man didn't care in the least what I had been up to the night before, so I decided not to tell him after all. I had my bath, listlessly pushing the rubber duck around in the bubbles, and then put on the charcoal suit Jeeves had laid out for me. He had chosen a dark blue tie with subtle shadings of light grey, but I forewent it in favour of a rather similar affair in deep purple. Jeeves had liked these ties so much he had suggested I buy one of each colour – the colours were dark enough to be quite sombre – but I favoured the purple one above all the others.

And I'd be dashed if Jeeves got to decide the colour of my neckwear that particular morning.

I sat down to luncheon, and Jeeves brought me my belated morning tea, followed by a refreshing cocktail. Having missed breakfast, I dug into the spread with gusto, and almost didn't notice Jeeves hovering in the background.

When I put down my knife and fork, Jeeves cleared his throat.

“Will you be dining in this evening, sir?”

“No, Jeeves, I'm taking Rocky Todd to the Drones club.”

There was an odd light in Jeeves' eye as he replied, “Very good, sir. I trust Mr Todd is well?”

“In excellent form,” I replied, frowning a little at Jeeves. “I say, Jeeves, is something the matter?”

That o. l. worried me, as such signs of disapproval from Jeeves are always significant.

“Perhaps you would care to lend Mr Todd one of your evening suits, sir. I remember Mr Todd's wardrobe was somewhat... incomplete when we last met,” Jeeves said.

Of course. Jeeves would hate for the young master to be seen carousing around town with an American poet dressed in soft-breasted shirts and morning jackets.

“Well, I shall have him come over before we go out, I think,” I replied, watching Jeeves. There was no trace of that odd light now, so I must have mollified him. “Do you think my togs will fit him, Jeeves?”

“I am certain I shall be able to make a few little readjustments if such is not the case, sir,” Jeeves said. “Will that be all, sir?”

***

I telephoned Rocky's hotel and delivered a message that he was to come 'round to the flat before we went out. Jeeves was hovering about the place, keeping everything orderly and in place, but as is his wont from time to time, he then shimmered into the room with a somewhat serious look on his face.

I looked up from my thriller novel. “Yes, Jeeves?”

“I'm afraid there is a quite irreparable wine stain on your shirt, sir. I'm afraid we must discard the item.”

“Oh. I suppose the glass must have tipped over,” I reflected, thinking of the glasses of wine we'd been enjoying in Rocky's room. I hadn't noticed any wine stains, but to the sartorial eye of Jeeves, not even a smidgeon of dust will pass undetected.

“The garments seem to be in a somewhat tired state, sir,” Jeeves said. And quirked his eyebrow ever so slightly.

I squirmed in my chair, but the Wooster courage did not fail me. “Well, yes, Jeeves. I suppose they must be, after spending the night on the floor.”

“Quite, sir.” But he didn't move.

“I suppose you're wondering why the young master didn't make a return appearance until late this morning, eh, Jeeves?” I asked.

“Early afternoon, sir. I shall be agog to learn,” Jeeves said, with precisely the same tone of voice he used when I informed him that one of my pals had lost his shirt on the racing tracks. That is to say, with no visible emotion at all.

“Well, I went back to Rocky's hotel with him. It was rather late before we finished our tour of the park.”

Jeeves inclined his head. “Understandable, sir. Will you and Mr Todd take tea before going out?”

There, I told myself, didn't I tell you? He knows very well what you and Rocky were about last night, and he's perfectly disinterested. It made the heart creak in warning that it was going to break again.

Just then the bell rang, and he excused himself to open it. I put my book away and rose to greet Rocky, who'd just entered, giving Jeeves his hat.

“Bertie!” he said with a happy smile. “What's all this about me stopping by your apartment? Isn't the Drones club up the other way past my hotel?”

“It is, Rocky, old thing,” I agreed. “But an evening at the Drones requires proper attire. You won't protest too heavily to being shoved into a few of my raiments, do you?”

Rocky looked dubious, but just then Jeeves manifested himself and asked if he should ready any refreshments.

“Brandy and soda, I think,” I said, and took Rocky by the arm. It struck me as a somewhat awkward situation to have them both in the same room. “Come, Rocky, we'll find you something.”

Well, needless to say, all my things were just a size or two too small for Rocky. The shirt was fine, and the trousers could be wrestled on with a little goodwill, but the waistcoat and dinner jacket would require nothing short of a miracle.

Or, as I thought sadly and rang the bell, Jeeves.

“Sir?”

“Could we find Rocky a more suitable waistcoat, you think, Jeeves?” I asked.

Jeeves inclined his head. “I have taken the liberty of making a few, small, alterations to a set of your own, sir. I believe they should fit Mr Todd admirably.”

And by Jove, Jeeves was as good as his word. The waistcoat and jacket fit Rocky, if not perfectly, then well enough. Jeeves assisted Rocky in donning the attire as I watched.

“I can manage on my own, thanks,” Rocky muttered when Jeeves was about to tie the white around his neck. I won't say he glared at Jeeves, because Rocky is a friendly sort of cove, but there was not a shadow of a smile on his face.

Jeeves didn't react to the brush-off, but handed Rocky the tie and stepped back. It was clear, however, that Rocky had never tied a tie in his life, and was soon making a terrible knot of it all.

“Bertie, could you lend a hand?” he asked.

I tied Rocky's tie for him, but when I was done, Rocky took my hands in his and smiled at me. “Thanks, Bertie,” he said, and kissed me. Briefly, true, and very gently, but just like that! Right in front of Jeeves! I gaped at him.

Then I gaped at Jeeves. Jeeves' eyebrow arched a quarter of an inch, but he said nothing. I turned back to gape at Rocky.

“What?” I asked him, quite at a loss.

Rocky threw an arm around my shoulders, grabbing our top hats and cramming them down on our heads with the other arm. “You're funny, Bertie,” he said, and I barely remembered to bring my cigarette case before he steered us out the door.

“Rocky!” I spluttered, when we were finally ensconced in the lift. “Why would you do that?”

“What, kiss you?”

“Kiss me in front of Jeeves, Rocky!”

“He's an idiot, Bertie,” Rocky said hotly. “He's not treating you right. I just wanted to show him that there are actually people who care about you more than he does. Maybe that'll make him think.”

My heart sank beyond the level of the basement floor. “Rocky, he doesn't care. He's told me himself that he doesn't love me. A kiss or two is not going to alter that.”

“Well, he should still know that you're not his toy or something. At the very least you have to let him know you're not staying faithful to him or some rubbish like that, Bertie.”

Nothing more was said on the matter, since we had reached the foyer. But in the taxicab, during dinner, and as Rocky lied through his teeth about American girls to the other Drones, I thought about what Rocky had said.

Was I really just some plaything that Jeeves was free to do with as he pleased? I mean to say, it was always I who asked him to come to my bed, but he must know by now how likely I was to do so very frequently. He must know he would always find me eager for his touch; I had told him I loved him and I stood by that.

Perhaps Rocky was right. Perhaps I should tell Jeeves that I had no intentions of remaining exclusively his, just to even the scores, if you get me. Though I felt no inclination to go an have it off with anyone else, there was always the principle of the thing.

And so, when I poured the Wooster carcass into the flat at one in the morning (Rocky had never been on a real binge before and so we felt obliged to accompany him on one), and found Jeeves waiting with a, “I trust you had a pleasant evening, sir?” I let fly all of Rocky's good advice.

“Jeeves, I won't stay faithful to you!” I declared.

Jeeves calmly took my hat and scarf. “No, sir.”

“I'm going to... to be indiscreet with coves all over the place if I so wish.”

“Yes, sir,” said Jeeves, helping me off with my jacket.

“That is to say, I don't actually wish to, but I'm not refusing the possibility of another round with Rocky, if it comes to that,” I insisted. I headed for the master bedroom.

“Very good, sir,” Jeeves said, and his voice was as polished and polite as ever.

I sank onto my bed, tugging helplessly at my togs. “I am quite serious, Jeeves. I may love you and only you, but I'll be dashed if I'm going to let you hog the Wooster covers, so to speak.”

“As you say, sir. Shall I lay out the heliotrope pyjamas, sir?”

“No, Jeeves, just get me out of these things. And then get yourself out of your things and hop in right along with me, what?” I suggested. Jeeves' efficient undressing of the Wooster corpus was, as always, having quite an effect on said c.

“Very good, sir,” said Jeeves, and did just that.

***

I realized when I woke the next morning that I couldn't remember a thing after Jeeves had gotten my shirt off. I knew he had said he would get into bed with me, but I could not for the life of me remember a thing. And Jeeves, as always, was gone.

When he came in with the tea, I was frowning severely.

“Jeeves, did we... you know... last night?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But I can't remember a thing, Jeeves.”

“No, sir. I noticed a certain level of intoxication on your part, if you'll pardon my saying so.”

“You mean to say, you knew I was well under the sauce, but you went ahead and hopped into bed with me anyway?”

“Of course, sir. You expressly directed me to do as much.”

Jeeves left the room with a small bow, after ascertaining that that would be all. I miserably sipped my tea. I knew I had expressly told Jeeves to get into bed with me, but there was something rather unsettling about knowing that Jeeves didn't even care if the young master was of sound mind at the moment of action, if you get me. If I had been staggering drunk and ordered that Honoria Glossop be brought to my bed, would Jeeves have complied?

Would he have followed any order just because it was an order, and never given a thought to my well being? And more importantly, would he care if I regretted the action the next morning?

These questions made the mind reel and the stomach hurt, so I decided to put them out of my mind. But I couldn't forget that blank look of indifference on Jeeves' face as he told me I had been under the influence, and he had forged ahead and had his way with me anyway.


	5. Two Teacups

By tea time, I had still not managed to forget the unpleasant feelings that had made themselves known when Jeeves told me we had been in bed together while I was tight as an owl. Jeeves brought in a cupful of the freshly brewed, and I decided it was time to act. Or, rather, to ask.

“Jeeves,” I said.

“Sir?”

“I will be blunt with you, Jeeves. I am not altogether comfortable with the idea that you should forge ahead and have your way with the young master when he is not mentally up to par,” I said, and though I looked at him rather like a dying duck in a rainstorm – for I felt no little amount of emotional distress over the whole affair – I trust my words conveyed the proper gravitude. Or, gravity. Whichever fits.

Jeeves didn't reply right away. When he did, his voice had that stuffed frog-quality. “I was not aware, sir, that I had taken such a liberty.”

“I was well under the sauce last night, Jeeves, and you were well aware of it. Why, you admitted as much.”

“True, sir. However, I was not aware that the alcohol you had imbibed, would cause memory loss. You were intoxicated, sir; I did not imagine you were not yourself,” Jeeves said. He was getting stuffier by the moment.

“But what if I had not wanted... whatever happened, Jeeves? What if you did to the young master something which I would be abhorred to learn of today?”

I pressed on, though it was clear from Jeeves' face and tone of voice that he did not like this conversation one bit. Just for that, I pressed on further. It was a petty sense of vengeance – for him not loving me, for him not even caring that I slept with Rocky Todd, I'm not quite sure – that made me say the next bit.

“You could have done any manner of awful things to me.”

And I meant it to sting.

Jeeves' eyes flashed. He straightened, not meeting my eyes but looking at the wall over my head. His mouth almost twisted with displeasure as he spoke.

“I feel you are grossly underestimating my humanity, sir. I would never have caused you any harm, regardless of our various relations. It is regrettable if you cannot remember what occurred, but I can assure you that my conscience is clear. I did nothing which you did not ask me to do, and nothing which you yourself have not asked me to do several times before, sir. Had you said the word, I would have stopped.”

Well, I say! The fellow looked positively livid; his nostrils were quivering and his lips almost turning down at the corners!

“Did I offend you, Jeeves?” I asked, suddenly dreading his reaction. Had I wronged him in thinking he might have taken liberties with me? If I had offended him very badly, would he leave me? The thought filled me with dread. Before Jeeves had a chance to speak, I was out of my chair, standing nervously in front of him.

“I'm sorry, Jeeves. Please forgive me; I'm sure I must have wounded your feudal spirit -”

Jeeves' reply was cool as a glacier. “The only insult, sir, lies in implying I would be capable of such selfish disdain for the well-being of others.”

And then he bowed – making it seem a dashed sarcastic bow, too – and went back into the kitchen.

I felt tears prickling hotly behind my eyes. I had insulted Jeeves, and not over a mere sartorial disagreement, or even a musical instrument. The charges I had laid at his d., suddenly seemed quite serious to me. And the more I thought about it, the more his anger made sense.

I had told Jeeves he was no gentleman. Worse than that, I had, though not intentionally, accused him of being the worst sort of cad. It was, I suppose, the sort of thing one would duel over with pistols or swords at daybreak, back in the olden day. One does not go about slinging insults like that at one's valet, did one?

I felt I ought to have trusted Jeeves more than that. I loved the man; I hadn't fallen for his cruel tendencies and lack of soul, after all. Perhaps it was all Rocky's talk of not being Jeeves' toy that had gotten into my head, or perhaps I was just worried that I could not remember things. But I should have put my trust in Jeeves, as I had always done. He was, after all, adamant in seeing to it that no other aspect of our relationship changed, despite his evening appearances in my bedroom.

Worried that I had offended Jeeves beyond redemption, and properly shamefaced over what I had said to him, it was with me the work of a moment to rush to the kitchen in order to apologize profusely. I found him going over a few sheets of paper.

“Jeeves, I'm so sorry!” I said, and if my voice was but a manly whimper, well, angering one's unrequited love does that to a chap. “Please, old thing, I didn't mean to imply anything about your disdain or lack thereof! I was only worried, Jeeves!”

Jeeves looked up from his papers and found me, hands wrung and dial anguished, standing in the doorway. He cleared his throat.

“Sir, really, there's no need -”

“There is, Jeeves, there is,” I insisted. “I should never have doubted you like that. You're right, it was an awful thing to imply. And I didn't mean to. Please, Jeeves, don't be cross with me?”

Jeeves' eyebrow did that fraction-lift. “I'm sure I accept your apology, sir. I shall not be, as you say, cross with you.”

I sagged into one of the kitchen chairs, relief making me weak at the knees. Jeeves would not leave me.

After a moment, Jeeves cleared his throat and spoke again. “If I may be so bold, sir, you seem quite perturbed by our discussion in the living room.”

“Of course I am, Jeeves; I thought you would be outraged at my blundering accusations and leave my service!” I said, reaching into my pocket for a gasper.

“Sir, we have had several disagreements over the past who have been far more severe, yet your reaction, if I may say so, is hardly comparable to those occasions.”

“Well...”

I couldn't well lie to the man, could I? Jeeves always reads me like an open b.

“I love you, Jeeves. Perhaps I didn't know when we disagreed before. I can't think how I'd ever get by without you.”

Jeeves sighed softly, his intelligent eyes looking at me with resolve.

“Sir, you must stop this. I cannot reciprocate what you try to give to me, and I cannot allow it to interfere with our lives. As long as you are content to leave certain matters be, sir, our arrangement suits me very well. But if you insist on wasting your affections on me, I must ask that you do not expect me to return them. I have nothing more to offer you, sir, than what I already supply you with.”

I felt cold and numb all of a sudden. Here was Jeeves, telling me in no uncertain terms that I had to stop bothering him with all this love business, and that my affections were wasted on him. Well, I say, that's a harsh blow to take for any man. I had known, of course, that he did not love me, but at least I had thought that he would allow me to love him.

I nodded morosely and got up. “I think I'll turn in early, Jeeves. Accept no callers or telephones for me for the rest of the night.”

“Very good, sir,” said Jeeves, and asked if I would like breakfast at the usual hour. I hmm'ed and left the kitchen, heading for my bed and the pillow that might still smelled slightly of him.

Jeeves must really hate it, I pondered, when I told him I loved him.

***

Rocky called me up the next day and asked me if I could lead him to a diner or something similar. I welcomed the distraction, and took Rocky to the tea shop where Bingo had once found a waitress he wanted to marry. We spent much of the day out and about – Rocky wanted to ride a double-decker bus, visit museums and see the London Bridge – and finally retired to a quiet restaurant where they served excellent roast beef.

“I never took you for the touristy type, Rocky,” I said when we started on the fish.

“Oh, well, I don't normally like big cities,” Rocky said. “But while I'm here, and I've got you to show me around, I think I should give it a go. London's a great city.”

I agreed that it was, and asked him if he had any plans for his last two days here.

“Tomorrow I'm going to go back to Hyde Park,” Rocky confided, looking more excited than a simple stroll in the park warranted. “I'm going to read my poems there, Bertie; at that Speaker's Corner. What a wonderful invention, Bertie!”

“Oh, rather,” I said. I didn't quite see what was so wonderful about an upturned soap box myself, but there must be something about it, since people gathered there all the time. “And the day after?”

“Well, my boat leaves late the day after tomorrow,” Rocky said. “So I was thinking I might spend tomorrow evening with you.”

He looked at me with a soft sort of smile. I realized what he had in mind, and thought about that bally empty bed of mine.

“Tell you what,” I said. “Tomorrow when you're ready to go out to dinner, come 'round to the flat with your things. Luggage and all that. We'll get you dressed in the old fish-and-soup, and you can stay the night.”

Rocky broke out in a wide smile, and raised his glass to mine in a toast. “Thanks, Bertie, that sounds great.”

***

And so it was that, on the following night, when we tiptoed into the flat at about two in the morning after quite a few bottles of the best, the first thing I did was trip over Rocky's suitcase. I made a bally racket, of course, but I also wondered why the suitcase was standing there in the middle of the floor.

“What's this bally suitcase doing in the middle of the floor?” I whispered.

“It's standing very close to the hat stand, Bertie,” Rocky whispered back. “Why were you walking towards the wall?”

“I was most certainly not,” I whispered back. The thing was starting to look pretty amusing to me, and I rather chuckled a bit at that.

Rocky giggled. “You're drunk, Bertie. Come on, let's go to bed. I've got a boat to catch tomorrow.”

“Actually, you ought to call it a ship, old thing,” I said. “They get rather pipped, apparently, if you call it a boat. Something about tonnage, Jeeves tells me.”

“Why are we whispering again?” Rocky asked, throwing both our top hats towards the hat stand. I don't think either of them hit the thing.

“Jeeves could be sleeping,” I explained. “Don't want to wake the chap. So keep quiet. You too, Jeeves.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Jeeves!” I cried. “How the devil did you get out of bed so fast?”

For there he was, I tell you, standing in our midst. I stared at him, and Rocky stared at him. In my drunken state, his ordinary way of materializing into being was a bit of a shock to the system.

“I have been enjoying some light reading, sir. I was not yet asleep,” Jeeves said. He tried to take my jacket, but I shrugged him off.

“No, no, Jeeves, we will be... we will be retiring now. Yes, quite. Goodnight, Jeeves.”

“Very good, sir. I have prepared the spare bedroom for Mr Todd.”

Rocky looked almost hurt for a moment. “Bertie! You're not going to put me in the spare bedroom, are you?”

“Of course not, Rocky!” I cried. “Jeeves, this nonsense must cease! Spare bedrooms, ha! Rocky shall sleep in my bedroom. Are we quite clear?”

Jeeves inclined his head in concession. If that's the word I want. “Of course, sir. It was merely a suggestion. Shall I move Mr Todd's pyjamas to your room, sir?”

Rocky giggled and left us, heading straight for my bedroom. I could hear him giggling still as he tumbled through the door.

I grinned in the direction of my room. “Pyjamas, ha! The man asks if we want the pyjamas moved...”

Really, I thought, Jeeves should know better! Pyjamas, when two coves share a bed? Nonsense. We wouldn't be needing those silly old things, what? Hardly.

I wasn't aware that I had spoken those words aloud until Jeeves said, “Very good, sir. Goodnight, sir.” and biffed off to his lair. I shrugged out of my dinner jacket, and began fighting with my braces. How the devil did one unfasten those things? They must have been some new patent or other.

When I entered the room, Rocky was sprawling on my bed – naked. I very quickly tore off my own togs, and pushed the door shut behind me. When one is full of champagne and one's bed is full of American poets who tell one how beautiful one looks, then time is of the essence.

After some minor fooling about, I took out the oil that I keep in the bedside drawer, and slicked Rocky's length until he was breathing fast and stuttering my name. Then I poured some into his hand and brought it to my posterior, guiding him in preparing me just so. Rocky was panting into my skin, and tried to roll me to my back, but I sat down astride him and he caught on.

Rocky's a clever chap, even at frantic moments like those. He held still while I lowered myself onto him, and as soon as we were joined, took hold of my hips and we rocked together. I had to bend my neck to kiss him, but his hands were forming the loveliest bruises on my skin, so I hardly cared. When I arched into him, he placed small kisses on my sternum, and it didn't take long before we were both moaning the other's name with abandon.

“Oh, Bertie!” Rocky shouted, pulling my hips down to meet his own as he climaxed. I kissed him to silence my own cry when I followed him minutes later, before I sank down on top of him, quite exhausted. The sheets were still tangled around our feet when I drifted off.

***

I was woken by a few gentle coughs the next morning.

“Forgive my intrusion, sir, but Mr Todd's train leaves in just under two hours. I assume the gentleman wishes to eat and dress before he leaves, sir.”

Looking up at Jeeves through bleary eyes, I frowned. “Whazzat?”

“Mr Todd's train, sir, to reach the steamliner. I was given to understand that he returns to America today.”

“Mmyes, alright, Jeeves,” I muttered. “We'll take breakfast in a mo'...”

I looked to my other side, and found Rocky, naked as the day he was born, but fortunately front down, so to speak, snoring gently into the pillow. I noticed I was barely covered myself; the sheets reached as far as my hip bones.

“Oh, um, yes,” I said. I could feel a blush colouring the old dial. “Thank you, Jeeves.”

Jeeves left, and I shook Rocky awake. “Breakfast, old top,” I insisted as I poked him in the ribs. “There's b. and e's waiting for us at the table.”

Rocky groaned and turned over, hair tousled again. “What time is it, Bertie?”

I looked at my clock. “Well, it's only half past ten, Rocky; no need to rush. Still, we ought to make ourselves presentable, what? Good grief, it's a lucky thing Jeeves isn't offended easily. I think we might have been quite loud last night. And then he came in here to wake me and got an eyeful of, well, this.”

Rocky grinned at me. “Well, it's nothing more than what he deserves, with all that talk of his about pyjamas. Stuffy, is what I call it. Let's go have some of that bacon; I'm starving!”

After dressing and mangling a spot of breakfast, Rocky and I barely had time for a cigarette before the car arrived to take Rocky to the train station. I had suggested I see him off, but Rocky waved this off and said he'd rather have a goodbye kiss in the privacy of our flat.

Well, what could one say? Rocky got his farewell, invited me to stay with him whenever I should visit America, clapped me on the shoulder and was gone. I ankled over to the window to watch his car drive off. As much as I liked Rocky, it was an undeniable fact that he was a country man and I a citizen of the metrop.

Still, my bed hadn't felt empty at all with him in it, and I almost feared how bally enormous it would seem with only me in it, now.

Just then Jeeves cleared his throat politely behind me. “A telegram for you, sir. Mr Little wishes to see you as soon as possible.”

I sighed. Well, that was it, Rocky was gone, the temporary respite was over, and it was back to the ordinary for Bertram.


	6. Advice and Departure

It turned out Bingo only wanted to see Jeeves. When he called later that day, he asked me if I'd mind if he put a problem to Jeeves' great brain. I bade him sally forth and sat down to have a gasper while Bingo sought Jeeves' counsel.

“You see, Jeeves, food keeps disappearing from the larder,” Bingo said. “It happens at night, when only the little woman and I are at home. Oh, and the housemaid. But the food simply disappears, and the maid swears she doesn't know anything about it. I'd think it was a burglar, only nothing else disappears. Mrs Little isn't too pleased, as you can understand.”

“Understandable, sir,” Jeeves said.

“I'm simply blank, Jeeves, on the solution front. Perhaps you've got one of your corkers?”

Jeeves nodded gravely. “An idea presents itself, sir. You have noticed no signs of a forced entrance to the house? No one has entered the residence save yourself, your wife and the staff?”

“It doesn't seem like anyone else has been in, no,” Bingo said. “Except a few friends, of course, but they all call during the daytime.”

“Then it follows that one of the occupants of the house must be accountable for the missing comestibles, sir,” Jeeves said.

Bingo beamed at me. “Isn't that amazing, Bertie? How does he do it?” After a pause, he added, “But I should still like to know which one of us it was. How would one go about that, Jeeves?”

“If I might make the suggestion, sir, bilberries.”

“Bilberries?”

“Yes, sir. The fruits of the Vaccinium myrtillus, or bilberry shrub, are a common ingredient in several dishes, due to their sweetness. Their juice, being of a dark purplish hue, stains very easily. I would advocate leaving a bilberry pie or any measure of bilberry preservatives in the larder,” Jeeves explained.

Bingo's brow furrowed slightly. “What for?”

“Oh, Bingo, do listen,” I said to him. “Anyone who eats the pie or preservatives or whatnot, will stain his fingers and lips. Possibly even clothing. Come the light of day, the whole household shall see what food-stealing larks he has been up do under the cover of darkness.”

Bingo slapped his hands together. “Marvellous, Jeeves! I shall see to it at once. Wonderful. Well, I'm off, then. Will you come with me for a drink before dinner, Bertie?”

I considered the offer, but found myself dreading the Drones club with its gaiety and loud voices. I felt my sombre company would best be spent on a few drinks and a book by the fireplace.

“No, I think I will be dining in tonight, Bingo,” I said. “Quiet night with an improving book and whatnot.”

“Oh, alright,” Bingo said, and Jeeves saw him to the door.

“What a chump, eh, Jeeves?” I said when Bingo had left.

“Sir?”

“Bingo. Rather slow to catch on, I mean. I suppose we lads who gather at the Drones are none of us very bright, unfortunately. Mentally negligible, isn't that what you'd call us, Jeeves?”

There was a slight pause before Jeeves spoke. “It is undeniably true that some gentlemen of your acquaintance answer to that description, sir. Fortunately, you yourself are not among them.”

He bowed slightly and biffed off. I was left to ponder that Jeeves had somehow just told me he considered me wiser than my pals. I decided to accept it as a compliment, and it made my heart soar.

***

That compliment from Jeeves, small though it was, did nothing to dimin-whatsit my love for the man. It did quite the opposite; I began striving for more. In hindsight, I must admit that it sounds silly, that a grown man should behave like that, but I was lovestruck. Despite my knowledge that I would never have Jeeves' heart, as he seemed not to have one, my own h. never stopped quivering when he looked at me.

Whenever he gave my attire an appreciative gaze, I felt like a better man and I was determined always to wear Jeeves' favourite ties. When he voiced his pleasure that I had changed my cologne for a more subtle, spicy scent – he insisted the new one was more suited for a gentleman – I vowed never to use another drop of my old one.

And so it was that when he informed me that he would be attending a piano concert on his next evening off, I hurriedly scanned the society pages to find out which one. There was only one concert performance featuring a piano that night, and after Jeeves had bid me goodnight and biffed off, I wrote down the name of the composer whose pieces would be performed. It was my attention to learn something of his by heart.

There, Wooster! I told myself. Jeeves won't hear me say I love him, but he'll hear me play it, whether he likes it or not.

The very next morning I ankled 'round to a music shop and asked the proprietor if they had anything by this Liszt fellow.

“Certainly, sir. Did you have anything particular in mind?” the chap asked me.

“Oh, something to impress a loved one,” I replied mysteriously. “Something full of soul and feeling and whatnot.”

I couldn't well tell him that I intended to impress my perfect valet, of course.

“Well, _Liebestraum_ is always popular,” said the proprietor.

“Ah, no, we can't have the popular stuff,” I said. “This loved one is very difficult to impress. Very full of information.”

The proprietor scratched his head, but then waved a finger about in the air. “Ah, then I think I've got what you're looking for right here.” He held out a thin book of sheet music.

“And you're certain this will impress?”

“Positive, sir. Would impress even the Queen herself, if she heard it played.”

“I'll take it,” I said. “If you're sure it's the real Tabasco, then let's have it.”

I returned to the flat, and found it empty. It was my intention to rehearse the stuff while Jeeves was out on his errands and surprise him by playing it when he came back, so I sat down by the piano at once. I opened the score and put fingers to keys.

Well, the opening was dull stuff, I can tell you right away. It was slow and in a minor key, and one could just about feel one's heart grow heavy as one heard it. But if Jeeves liked this Liszt cove and his music, then by Jove, I would play the Liszt cove's music.

I forged ahead a page or two. There were a lot of fast notes ahead.

“Hallo!” I said. “This looks like something.”

And I began playing.

Unfortunately, I could only play so fast – a man has only ten fingers, as you probably know – and suddenly, the music seemed to be requiring a dashed sight more speed than my fingers found themselves able to supply. I tried again, and then again, and a fourth time, too – it did no good. The music was either written for people with hands twice the size of mine, or the tempo directions at the top of the page were evil lies, placed there to distress chaps trying to learn a piano piece to impress their loved ones.

“Dash it!” I cried, as I tried for the fifth time to reach two keys so far apart that the full span of my hand simply couldn't do the job.

“Are you attempting to play Liszt, sir?”

I jumped a foot off the piano stool, I don't mind telling you. I hadn't heard Jeeves come in, but there he was, basket in one hand and his bowler hat in the other.

“Oh, well, ah,” I said, for the Wooster eloquence is never in top form after such a start.

“It is a magnificent piece, sir, though if you don't mind me saying so, possibly not a suitable beginner's debut,” Jeeves said. He glided over to the piano and looked over my shoulder. “Liszt's piano pieces require a virtuoso to play them, sir. Many professional musicians will never master this particular piece.”

I sighed, defeated. “Oh, alright, Jeeves. I only thought it would be worth listening to, once I got it right.”

The corner of Jeeves' lip almost lifted. “It most certainly would be, sir. Perhaps, after more practice -”

“No, Jeeves, I admit defeat. I'll never play _Hungarian Rhapsody number two_ , or any other number, for that matter. I suppose I shall forever torment your ears with the music hall numbers you can't abide, Jeeves,” I said. If only the bally keys hadn't been so far apart!

Jeeves inclined his head. “If you are interested in playing classical music, sir, may I suggest Bach's _Goldberg Variations_? The aria is particularly pleasant to the ear.”

I lifted the old melon, which had been bent rather sadly. “Are they as dashed difficult to play as this rhapsody business?”

“No, sir. The _Goldberg Variations_ are suitable for both intermediate and advanced performers. I doubt they would present a very great musical challenge for you, but I believe you would play them beautifully, sir, with a little effort.”

I went out to buy these variations the very next day, though I didn't take the Liszt music back. I hid it in my desk, thinking that if I had been the sort of chap who played soulful music and read improving books, Jeeves might like me better.

A week or so later, I knew the aria that Jeeves had mentioned by heart. I don't usually like classical music, but I had been rehearsing eagerly every time Jeeves was off doing other things, and these things grow on a chap. I wouldn't have sat through an entire opera if my life depended on it, but this little piano piece had found its way into the Wooster heart.

Jeeves came into the living room with fresh ice cubes for the side table. I had been playing _Oh By Jingo!_ , but when I noticed Jeeves in the room, I stopped, pretended to wonder what to play, and then played the first few bars of the _Goldberg Variations_ aria.

I couldn't see what Jeeves was doing, of course, because I had to watch the keys as I played. But I felt his presence. And as I was playing this for Jeeves, I spared no effort.

Once the last note was lingering on the keys, I turned to Jeeves, eager to hear what he thought. I found him gazing at me with a rather intense look in his eyes.

“Beautiful, sir,” he said. Then he went back into the kitchen.

***

It almost shames me to say that I hadn't lasted more than nine days after Rocky had left before I'd once more begged Jeeves to come to my bed. He'd done so, and so there we were, back to what life had been before Rocky came along, with the difference that I now played Bach whenever Jeeves was at home, rather than my favourite tunes.

“Jeeves,” I would gasp, over and over, while he did heavenly things to my body. If I ever thought of stopping what we had become; if I ever wondered if it might not be better if I didn't do anything with Jeeves at all, then my mind would call forth images of what he could do to me at night, and I would say, “Dash it all!”

Jeeves was quite an addiction, it turned out, and I was content to indulge in it. I was so busy indulging, in fact, that one morning, I didn't notice the rather large purple-red-ish spot low on my neck that seemed to appear overnight, until I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror in the hallway.

I stopped dead in my tracks. All thoughts of popping down to the Drones for lunch, as had originally been my plan, vanished.

“Jeeves!” I cried.

Jeeves shimmered into being. “Sir?”

“There's a bruise on my neck, Jeeves!”

Jeeves leaned in to examine the dark spot, frowning ever so slightly. “So there is, sir.”

“Well, how did it get there, man? You're the only one who's been near my neck for weeks!” I said. It was all very well to go about in one's own flat, giving Jeeves the glad eye. It was quite another going into public with a hefty love-bite on one's throat, and I was not going to stand for it.

“I'm sorry, sir, but I'm sure I couldn't say,” Jeeves said. “Shall I try to conceal it with some sort of ointment, sir?”

I didn't believe him. That he couldn't say how it had got there, I mean; I'm sure he would have tried to conceal it if I'd asked him.

“Dash it, Jeeves, how shall I get to lunch? I've got a bally big red-purplish blot on my neck!”

“I'm certain that a slightly higher collar would conceal it admirably, sir. If you'll allow me -”

I sighed. “That is all very well, Jeeves, but the material point is that you've made a... a mark on my neck. I can't have a mark like that on my neck!”

Though, of course, Jeeves could have made a thousand marks like that on my neck and I would have cherished each one. How he must have kissed my skin to make a mark like that!

“I am sorry, sir. I do not know how it could have happened, but I assure you I'll see to it that it doesn't happen again,” Jeeves said, and that was apparently that.

Jeeves did his best with my collar, and the mark was hardly discernible when I went to lunch. I touched it through my collar every five minutes, thinking of Jeeves, and the love-bite – for it was a love-bite, at least to me – burned through the fabric against my fingers.

***

“Jeeves, will you...?”

I held aside the covers hopefully. As soon as Jeeves had entered the room with my nightcap, a flash of desire had gone through me and I longed for his touch. Again.

“With pleasure, sir.”

Jeeves undressed swiftly, placing his clothes neatly on the chair in the corner, and slid into bed with me. He unbuttoned my pyjama shirt and pushed it off my shoulders, and I pressed against his hands. Soon enough, there were no clothing of any sort on either of us, and I rolled to my stomach.

The warmth of Jeeves' body as it covered mine was enough to make me painfully hard. I arched back into his touch as he prepared me, and the moment his hardness was pressing against my opening, I sighed his name.

Sometimes when Jeeves buggers me, he pushes into me just so, and his prick strokes a point in me that, well, to be blunt, makes me see stars. And not of the Madeline Bassett God's-daisy-chain type – no, little lights go off behind my eyes, and I can't breathe for pleasure. At this particular occasion, he seemed to do nothing but hit said point, and I had to bite my lip and clutch the pillow to stop myself from climaxing too soon.

“Jeeves!” I moaned. “Oh, Jeeves! Please, more!”

Jeeves thrust against me faster, and I twisted the bedclothes in my fists as I writhed beneath him. Jeeves was panting above me. I cried his name again and again, until he slid his hand between me and the mattress and rubbed me to completion.

Spent, I laid limp and gasping under Jeeves as he thrust himself into climax, groaning quietly as he filled me. My cheek was pressed against the pillow, and I was still gasping for breath when Jeeves slowly extracted himself from my body. Then there was a heavy warmth as Jeeves slowly sank down on top of me.

I didn't say anything. I knew if I told him again how I felt, he would leave.

But Jeeves always leaves. After pressing a slow, wet kiss to my neck, Jeeves rose from the bed and left, taking his clothes with him. I put myself back in my pyjamas and went to bed, sated and tired, and had almost fallen asleep when I remembered that he hadn't made a mark on my neck this time, only kissed it. But it felt equally tender.

***

I can't say for certain how long Jeeves and I lived like this, briefly sharing my bed and otherwise living life as was expected of a gentleman and his valet. We had been doing it for weeks before Rocky came to visit old Blighty, and we did it for what felt like months after he left. I only know that my feelings for Jeeves never changed, and I was beginning to lose hope that my heart would ever grow old like Jeeves', when the limbo was disturbed.

I had woken up in the middle of the night, on Nature's call, you might say. I found I wanted a glass of water while I was already up, so after availing myself of the gents', I went to the kitchen. I found Jeeves there.

Now, it is essential that you bear in mind how Jeeves normally appears. He's a tall, handsome chap, with impeccable taste and dress, and even after battling swans or riding a train with the heavy luggage, he still looks untouchable. His back is ramrod straight, his chin held high, his hair always held in place with that fragrant brilliantine he favours.

You've got the image in your mind? Good. Now let me tell you how I found him in the kitchen that night.

He sat in a chair by the little table, with a gasper burning away in an ashtray on said t. He wore no morning coat, only his waistcoat and shirt. He was leaning his elbows on his knees, and his head in his hands. His back was hunched. His shoulders drooped. His finely chiselled features were partially obscured by his large hands, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up.

Such was the Jeeves that I found in the kitchen on my late-night excursion to quench my thirst. It rattled me in no uncertain terms.

“Jeeves!” I exclaimed. “What are you doing up?”

Jeeves jerked upright. His face was pale, but the moment he met my eyes, his features seemed to solidify back into that blank mask that is Jeeves' ordinary expression. He stood respectfully and straightened his clothing.

“Pardon me, sir. I was ruminating on some household issues. May I be of assistance, sir?”

“No, no, I just wanted a glass of water,” I said, but I couldn't shake the image of Jeeves hunched in that chair, from my mind. “Don't trouble yourself, I can get it.”

“Very good, sir. If that is all, sir, I believe I shall return to bed,” he said.

And I said there was nothing more, and Jeeves went to bed. I drank my water and returned to my own bed, but I dreamt of Jeeves looking so distressed all night, that I can't have gotten more than twenty of the required forty winks.

Jeeves, however, soothed my worry about this the very next night, when I asked him if he'd let me pleasure him with my mouth, and he said yes, and also returned the favour. All seemed to be in order, and I didn't give the matter any more thought. But the limbo was, as I have said, disturbed, and not a week after I had found Jeeves in the kitchen, said l. shattered completely.

I was just coming home from a friendly luncheon at Bingo Little's house – he wanted to tell me all about how Jeeves' wheeze had turned out; apparently, he had been sleepwalking and eaten the food himself – when I was met by the most horrible sight I have ever had the misfortune to see in my entire life.

Jeeves was shrugging into his overcoat, his bowler in place and his hands already gloved. And his valise stood by his feet. Jeeves was leaving.

“Jeeves!” I cried. “Jeeves, what are you doing?”

“I am leaving, sir,” Jeeves said, and his voice was a flat, dead thing. “You will find my letter of resignation on the side table. I have called the agency; they will be expecting you to come by and view a few portfolios.”

“No! Jeeves, don't leave me! You can't... Please! Jeeves, I love you!” I shouted, the icy grip of fear encasing the Wooster heart. Jeeves was leaving. Leaving! He was going to walk out of my life forever, and he hadn't even said why!

“And I have fallen for you, sir!” Jeeves snapped back.

The silence that hung between us was thick as a brick wall. Slowly, incredulously, a whatsit of hope began unfolding in my breast. Fallen for me? Did he mean what I hoped, nay, prayed, he meant?

“Jeeves,” I began, my voice trembling, but he cut me off.

“Please, sir,” he said, and his voice was once more that dead thing. “I cannot stay. I apologize if this inconveniences you, but I must leave immediately. For both our sanities, sir, I must leave. Do not try to follow me. Goodbye, sir.”

And he was gone before I could even throw myself in front of the door, his size fourteen bowler hat disappearing around the corner of the hallway.


	7. Chase

I ran after him, of course. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, but over and over I saw Jeeves' bowler disappear around a corner too far ahead of me. And finally, after chasing him around seven blocks and across a street, I lost sight of the bowler hat and Jeeves was gone.

Exhausted from sheer panic, I staggered into the nearest public house and shakily ordered a drink. Something needed to be done, and quickly, before Jeeves could get too far. I shuddered to think that he might go overseas, or to some remote little village where I would never find him. I had to act fast.

The drink helped calm my racing heart somewhat, but it did nothing to dispel the cloud of misery that surrounded the h. in question. Jeeves had just left me; not even one of his special cocktails could have made Bertram smile at that moment. But it was obvious that this was no moment to grieve; the Wooster courage must rally round. A plan must be formulated.

I asked the barkeep for a bit of paper and a pen or pencil, and he obliged. I ordered another drink and sat down at my table again, ready to take down the facts. I find it helps, in messy situations, to write down what one knows so far. I wrote.

_What I know so far:  
1\. I love Jeeves  
2\. Jeeves has left  
3\. Before he left, Jeeves said he had fallen in love with me  
4\. No, wait, scratch that. That's all I know so far._

Well, it was a beginning. And from these notes, I could deduce a little more information.

_What I can now deduce:  
1\. Jeeves and I love each other (unless Jeeves was lying, which I don't think he was, and I'll be dashed if I'll assume the worst like that, ~~either~~ ~~too~~ whatever the right word is  
2\. Jeeves has got it into his head that this is a bad idea, so I must convince him otherwise  
3\. I have to find Jeeves before I can convince him that ~~this isn't a bad idea at all, but the most wonderful thing that could ever happen to chaps like us~~ he's wrong_

There, you see. I told you it was helpful. As I considered what I had written, I arrived at what could only be called a brilliant decision. It all boiled down to this, which I wrote down at the bottom of the page:

_I must find Jeeves as soon as at all possible and tell him again that I love him._

The decision was made. I folded the paper neatly and put it in my breast pocket, gave the barkeep back his pencil, and stepped out into the street. As I hadn't had time to do more than turn and run when I had gone back to the flat after lunch, I still had all my necessities with me, and I hailed a taxicab to go to Curzon street as fast as was humanly possible with the added incentive of a five pound note if he got me there in time.

The cabbie didn't ask what time I was to be there in, and it was a good thing, too, because in my distraught condition I could have spilled the beans and landed myself in an awful mess. But the obliging chap simply gave his accelerator a jolly good run, and it wasn't ten minutes later when I sprang from the cab outside the Junior Ganymede, yelling over my shoulder to keep the change.

I strode into the lobby of the place.

“May I help you, sir?” an aged servant-looking type said when I entered.

“You may if you can get me one R. Jeeves, valet,” I said. “And fast.”

The chap looked rather confused. “Do you wish to employ him, sir?”

“I do employ him, dash it,” I said. The chap didn't seem to be catching on to the need for haste. “I can't find him, and I think he's here. Would you go in and tell him that the young master – um, wants a word?”

All I got for my troubles was a shake of the head.

“I'm sorry, sir, but I can't help you. I've been here since this morning, and Mr Jeeves hasn't come in. Would you like to leave a message?”

“No. No, wait, yes. That is to say, I will leave a message, just in case. Take this down, would you, my good man? Jeeves, stop. Find myself in soup again, stop. Require your hasty return, stop. Do not fail at any cost, stop. Wooster,” I dictated.

The old chap looked strangely at me, but jotted down the message on a note pad and assured me that Jeeves would get the note as soon as he came in. I thanked him and left, feeling a good sight more desperate than I had before I went in.

If Jeeves wasn't in his club, then where was he? He had never mentioned any relations in London, except his niece Mabel, and she was married to my pal Biffy. Had he left London already? How could he have managed that without a motorcar?

“The train!” I exclaimed as I remembered that Jeeves had often followed behind with the heavy luggage when my presence was required at some beastly country holding place. He could have gone off on a train.

Another taxicab took me to the Victoria station, and I hastily made my way to the nearest ticket booth.

“Have you seen a tall, darkish cove in a bowler hat?” I asked through the glass. “Dressed mostly in black. Looks very intelligent, and carries a valise. Has he come by today?”

The chap behind the glass looked thoughtful for a moment. “You know, I think I did see him, about two hours ago,” he finally answered. “Looks very grave? Sounds very clever?”

“That's him!” I cried. “Did he buy tickets?”

“He did,” the chap confirmed. Then a look of suspicion was fastened on yours truly. “Why do you want to know? Does he have something of yours?”

I almost said, “My heart,” but managed not to. Instead I gave the cove a conspiratory wink and said, “He'll think twice before legging it with my pocket watch again.”

The chap behind the glass, apparently convinced that I was going after Jeeves to recover some stolen property or other, told me that Jeeves had bought a ticket to Kings Deverill. No return ticket had been mentioned.

I sat down at a nearby bench to mull this over. I recalled my adventures at Deverill Hall with alarming clarity, and it was beyond me why Jeeves would voluntarily travel to this particularly distasteful corner of Her Majesty's land. Deverill Hall is teeming with aunts and country rozzers, not to mention village concert goers, and is hardly the sort of place one thinks back on with fondness.

But then the thought occurred to me that Jeeves' uncle Charlie, the intimidating butler at Deverill Hall, also resided there. And Jeeves had told me he greatly esteemed his uncle Charlie.

“Aha!” I cried, and once more took to the streets with the intention of hailing a taxicab. I had not a moment to lose; I must go down to Kings Deverill myself and intercede – if that's the word I want – Jeeves there. He was sure to have sought cover with his uncle, and if nothing else, this uncle would undoubtedly be able to tell me where Jeeves could be found.

I only paused to tell the doorman to inform everyone who came to see me, that I had left for a few days in the country. It's no use having one's chums running after one on such ventures as mine; they'll only get in one's way. The car was brought round, and I heaved the old corpus into it, then set off for Kings Deverill.

As I drove, I contemplated all that had come to pass. It was all a bit thick, I figured. Here I was, loving Jeeves like the dickens – I was even willing to place myself in the dangerous realm of Deverill Hall to prove it – just like I had for months, if not years. And I had just been getting used to the sad thought that Jeeves would never love me, when he confessed he was doing just that. Loving me, I mean.

And then Jeeves left, which was more confusing than anything. Was he angry with me? Had he finally decided to be pipped that I had slept with Rocky Todd, after not giving two figs for so long? I mean to say, if he loved me, it ought to have made him very upset indeed that I had gone and committed crimes of the sodomite kind with Rocky. But he hadn't shown any indication at all that he was angry before.

Well, here I was, loving Jeeves. And there he was, loving me, if one believed him. I did, of course. So why, when the plot was clearly material for storybooks with happy endings, had Jeeves upped and left like that? I strained the Wooster brain, but came short of any good reason. I couldn't think I had said or done anything that offended him. I hadn't told him I didn't love him anymore. So why would he leave?

All through the drive to Kings Deverill, I pondered these questions. They repeated themselves in my mind to such an extent that I almost ran over a passing cyclist, so preocc-whatsit was I. Jeeves was driving me mad, and he wasn't even there.

It was past dinnertime before I finally reached the Hall. I barely waited for the two-seater's engine to die down before I jumped out of it. I noticed a gawking maid staring at me from an open window on the first floor.

“What ho,” I called. “I'm here to see Silversmith. Charlie Silversmith, that is. Is he in?”

“He's butlin' at dinner, sir,” the maid said. She was still gawking. “Ah can make ye a cuppa while ye wait?”

“Oh, well,” I began. A blasted nuisance that uncle Charlie wasn't available just then, but I had no other alternative than to wait. I mean to say, one does not go about other peoples' country houses searching for lost valets. It's simply not the gentlemanly thing to do. So I would have to wait until Silversmith was done butling.

“Yes, thank you, tea would be just the ticket,” I said.

The gawking maid showed me to the kitchen, where I was sat down at a rough table and served a cup of tea so strong it almost made my eyes water. The maid was still gawking.

“A bit overdressed, aren't ye?” she asked.

I looked down at my perfectly good suit; it was a light grey one that Jeeves had pressed only the day before. A dark blue tie with a wide stripe of pale mint green went very well with it. But I was hardly overdressed, what?

“Hardly,” I said. “Well, I suppose I could have changed into the brown Harris tweed for the travel, but I was in rather a hurry.”

The maid's eyes went wide. “What kind 'v household are ye with?”

I didn't quite understand her, I'm afraid. “Well, my own, of course.”

“Oh!”

The maid shot to her feet, and hurriedly curtsied. “So sorry, sir. I thought ye were one o' mister Silversmith's mates from down the village, sir. I'll tell Dame Winkworth ye're here. And ye can wait in the sittin' room, sir.”

“No, no, I'll be perfectly fine here,” I protested. My courage, already in a sad state from the events of the day, could simply not have born the added stress of facing down Dame Daphne and all her sisters. “I'm only here to see Silversmith; no need to trouble the occupants.”

The maid blushed, curtsied again and biffed off. I was left with the appallingly strong tea, drumming my fingers impatiently against the table as the minutes ticked by much too slowly.

After almost an hour, the kitchen door opened and Silversmith came in, followed by the gawking maid. Jeeves' uncle is a formidable sort of chap; the kind of butler one doesn't like to offend by being a bother or a tricky visitor. Charlie Silversmith could strike fear into the heart of man, and my guess was that only his feudal spirit stopped him from doing so.

Still, I reminded myself as I stood, this was the man who had dandled Jeeves on his knee when Jeeves was a very young boy, inconceivable though that idea is.

“Mr Fink-Nottle?” Silversmith asked. “Or Mr Wooster?”

I valiantly tried to give an airy laugh, but it sounded rather pathetic. Of course Silversmith would remember how Gussie and I had landed each other soundly in the soup here some while ago, but must he really bring it up at such a time?

“Ah, no, it's Wooster,” I told him. “Sorry about all that, Silversmith. I won't keep you long; I only have one question. Where's Jeeves, do you know?”

Silversmith's eyes narrowed. “Jeeves?”

“Yes, Reginald Jeeves, your nephew,” I clarified. “My valet. He's gone, and I can't find him. But he took the train to Kings Deverill, so I assume he's here somewhere.”

“I'm afraid I don't know, Mr Wooster,” Silversmith said. His face was quite set, but there was something about the way he said it that didn't make me believe him. Not a word.

“Dash it, man, this is a matter of life and death!” I cried. And it was; I was quite convinced I would die if I didn't find Jeeves soon.

Silversmith regarded me calmly. “Why are you looking for my nephew, if you don't mind me asking, sir?”

“He just upped and left, the blighter!” I said. “I am going to beg on my knees, if need be, for him to return to my service. I simply can't get by without him; he's an absolute treasure. I shall apologize profusely for whatever I have done to offend him, too. And take a cottage by the sea for the summer so he can fish the bally sea empty of shrimp.”

Silversmith's left eyebrow rose. That ability seemed to run in the family.

“Rosie, if you'll excuse us,” he said, and the gawking maid slipped out of the room again.

“Please sit, Mr Wooster,” Silversmith said. We sat down at the kitchen table, and Silversmith refilled my teacup. I tried to drink some more of it.

“Mr Wooster, London is full of valets who would gladly take up a post with a gentleman such as yourself for less than what I suspect you're paying Reginald. Why are you so insistent to retain his services?”

“There could be hundreds of valets willing to work for nothing,” I said severely, “and they wouldn't make half the valet Jeeves is. And they wouldn't have half his brain, either.”

“And what of his reasons for leaving your service, sir?” Silversmith persisted.

I blushed, looking away. “Those are of a private nature,” I said. “But I hardly think his reasons were good enough to just abandon the young master like this.”

Silversmith lit a gasper, and offered me one. It struck me as very strange that the formidable Charlie Silversmith should sit about sharing gaspers with chaps like this. I declined.

“Mr Wooster, I know what Reginald is. I've always known. He is not unaware of the dangers of combining his profession and his nature, and he has never given me cause to worry before this day. Now that you're here, sir, my worries have been confirmed. Do you really expect me to tell you where he is, when it's clear that his proclivities have caused the breach between you?” Silversmith asked.

I was flabbergasted. The whole family must eat nothing but fish, I concluded. How could he possibly know of what had happened between us? Had Jeeves told him?

“I am very fond of my nephew, Mr Wooster,” Silversmith continued, “and I would never reveal information about him that could harm him. You, however, I would not hesitate to report to the police. I suggest you respect my nephew's wishes and leave him be.”

“I say!” I cried. “Now hold on, my good man! I respect Jeeves a very great deal, but he left without giving me a chance to speak! Hardly white of him, I must say, and he was wrong. I'm not going to cause any breaches of any kind; I just want to talk to the man!”

Silversmith regarded me with scepti-what Jeeves calls it. “Mr Wooster, Reginald came here today asking me for lodging until he could procure tickets to Italy. He has refused food, drink and conversation since he arrived, and only briefly mentioned that he had resigned his post with you. Though I am not privy to the details of the matter, it is quite obvious to me that something is amiss.”

“You're dashed right something is amiss!” I said, thumping the table with my fist. “Jeeves has gotten the wrong idea into his head, and damnation if I'm going to leave until I've sorted it out!”

Silversmith took another puff at his gasper, and slowly crushed it out before answering. “And if Reginald doesn't agree with you once you've spoken to him?”

I sighed. If Jeeves was still set on leaving after I'd told him that I loved him and wanted him to come back, then I might as well move to New York and try to fall in love with Rocky. Or throw myself off the ocean liner, which seemed like a better alternative upon consideration.

“Then I shall leave Jeeves to his business and never darken your doorstep again,” I told Silversmith.

The butler rose. “I will hold you to that, Mr Wooster. Very well. I gave Reginald the keys to the old gardener's cottage, in the south-east corner of the gardens. You will find him there. I expect to see your car gone by the breakfast hour if he does not wish to see you. Goodnight, Mr Wooster.”

I shook his hand and thanked him, but I think this was a little too much for Silversmith's feudal sensitivities, for he looked aghast and didn't reply. Then I hurried out through the servant entrance, where I'd come in, and set out for the south-east corner of the gardens.

As I've mentioned in some of my earlier chronicles, Deverill Hall is situated in a pleasant spot. There are lawns and flowering shrubberies and romantic trees all around the place, and these were fragrant with the evening dew as I made my way through them. It reminded me of the occ. when I had bumped into Jeeves on a nocturnal wandering, and he had been talking about stars. He had been waxing quite poetic, too, and the memory of such nocturnal wanderings with Jeeves sent a violent shudder through my heart.

Finally, I found the gardener's cottage. It was a tiny, one-storey affair with white walls and a thatched roof. I could see a dim light in one of the windows, and I ran to the door.

“Jeeves!” I cried, knocking eagerly. “Jeeves, please open the door! I've come to explain, Jeeves; you can go to Italy later, but you have to let me explain!”

The door opened, and there stood Jeeves, eyes wide to the point of actually registering surprise.

“Sir!” he said.

I didn't wait for an invitation, but pushed past him into the little cottage.

“Jeeves, I demand that you hear me!” I said. “Enough of this nonsense. I love you, and I have for ages. I've told you, even though you didn't want to hear it. And now you love me, too, or rather, you said you did. There can't be anything wrong, Jeeves; not now!”

Jeeves turned away from me. “Sir, please. Don't do this. An affair between us beyond what we've already had? It would be madness to even consider it!”

“No, Jeeves, you silly ass!” I said. “It would be absolutely perfect! I love you, Jeeves, and I don't care what you say about hearts getting older, because I'll always love you!”

“I'm sorry, sir,” Jeeves said, and went for the door.

Panic welled up in the Wooster breast. I acted without thinking, which must be my only excuse for what was done next: I socked Jeeves in the eye.

Jeeves stumbled, crashed into a chair and fell to the floor. The door remained unopened, and my fist stung for two seconds before I realized what I'd done. Then my gut clenched in fear.

“Jeeves!” I said, falling to my knees next to where he was sitting up. “Oh, Jeeves, I'm so sorry, old thing! I didn't mean to do that! I mean, you were leaving, and I had to stop you, but I -”

“Sir,” Jeeves said, holding up a hand. “Please. Sit down.”

I offered Jeeves a helping hand to get him back on his feet, then righted the chair Jeeves had stumbled over and sat down in it. Jeeves took a piece of cloth from one of the cupboards and dunked it in a bucket that stood by the fireplace. There was apparently cold water in the bucket, because Jeeves pressed it to his eye like a compress.

I felt guilt tear me asunder from the inside out, and groaned. “I'm really sorry, Jeeves.”

Jeeves sat down in the only other chair in the little room. “I believe I'll live, sir,” he said.

“But I won't,” I said with not a little sadness. “If you leave me, I'll die, Jeeves.”

Jeeves sighed. “I beg to differ, sir; you would get by admirably.”

“No, for I shall throw myself over the railing of the next ocean liner I get on,” I insisted. “Jeeves, I love you. I was fine with loving you when you didn't love me, because at least you were with me. Now you leave me and tell me you love me. I can't understand, Jeeves!”

Jeeves was silent for a few moments before he spoke. “No, I realize you can't, sir. I'm afraid it is I who must apologize. I should have explained before I left. Perhaps, if you are willing, I could explain my abrupt departure now.”

I nodded miserably. “Please, Jeeves.” I refused to give up hope just yet.

“You must believe me when I tell you, sir, that I've never been in love in my adult life,” Jeeves said. “Like all boys, I fancied myself in love once or twice when I was young, but nothing serious ever came of it, and I've since never felt the inclination. I surmised that love was one of youth's follies and have been content to accept this ever since.”

“But everyone falls in love, Jeeves!” I insisted. “People get married all the time. Would they do that if they weren't in love, Jeeves? And all that poetry stuff you read; it's absolutely bursting with love and soppy romance!”

“I believed that love was the name men put to their baser feelings, sir, when they found themselves desiring a woman. I considered it an old-fashioned ideal, much like medieval chivalry and the norm that man must marry a woman, not another man. To me, love was one of Society's doctrines, studied and taught from childhood. I considered myself lucky to have escaped it.”

Jeeves sighed and closed his eyes. It was such a display of emotion that I could only watch him, mouth hanging open.

“Sir, you must try to understand my distress when I discovered I had myself fallen under its spell. The self I believed I knew for years, must be a fickle and weak thing. I suddenly suffer from the very ailment I have scorned as foolishness for almost twenty years,” Jeeves said, and if ever a voice was registering disdain, his was.

“But Jeeves!” I cried, but Jeeves held up a hand.

“It shook my faith in myself, sir. I cannot deny it frightens me. I do not understand the effect these emotions have on my mind, and I have no desire to subject you to the process of introspection that will help me sort through them, sir. I am leaving because it would drive me mad to share your bed while I love you as I do.”

Well, at this point, at least, I could offer Jeeves some advice.

“I managed perfectly,” I reminded him. “It hurts like the dickens, but not touching you hurts worse.”

Jeeves sank into a posish quite similar to the one I'd found him in in the kitchen that night, his head held in his hands. “Sir, I cannot begin to tell you how sorry I am for you. If I had known what you were experiencing, I would never have encouraged you. My only excuse is that, having never felt love myself, I could not know what it is. Forgive me, sir.”

Well, I could see why Jeeves was all distressed, certainly. I could understand that the man might need a few hours to exercise that brain of his after so many new ideas. But I couldn't for the life of me understand why he wouldn't stay with me now that we were both feeling the same thing.

“But Jeeves, I still don't understand,” I said. “The love is mutual, old thing. I love you as dearly as I ever have. Why aren't you happy that two aching hearts have been reunited and all that?”

Jeeves gave me a disapproving look. “When I was preparing your tea this morning, sir, I found myself considering dressing you in the pinstriped suit with that horrid tie you so favour – the blue one with turquoise polka dots – simply because it is your favourite. That is only the beginning of this madness; I find myself jealous not only of Mr Todd, but of the Misses Glossop and Bassett! I catch myself wanting to see you walk about London with my love-bites all down your neck so every man in the City will see you are mine.

“Love drives men mad, sir, and neither of us can afford succumbing to this particular insanity. I am a valet and you a gentleman, and we are both men. There is no conceivable happy ending to this story, sir, no matter how ardently we may claim to love each other.”

I was on the verge of tears when Jeeves finally met my eyes again, his gaze solemn. The eye was moist, you know, with manly sympathy, but also with joy and love.

“Jeeves, you silly ass,” I said again. “The two of us will go on living like we always have, but much better, because when you come home from your club, you'll find me waiting with a new Spinoza book for you. When I need cheering up from a particularly nasty lunch with aunt Agatha, you'll kiss the young master and take him to bed. We will travel together and come home together. What could possibly be better?”

“How could the situation possibly stay the same, sir, when I have changed beyond recognition, even to myself?” Jeeves said, and he sounded bally miserable when he said it, too.

“Because I have always loved you, Jeeves, and I always will. And you're still the Jeeves that I fell in love with, though perhaps with fewer marbles than advertised,” I said with a grin. Jeeves, off his rocker? Inconceivable, as Jeeves would have said.

“And the females to whom you occasionally become engaged, sir?” Jeeves asked.

“You mean, the pills of the species of woman from which you always rescue me?” I said. “Jeeves, they don't stand a chance against your fish-fed brain.”

“And your family's expectations that you must eventually abandon your bachelor life and start a family, sir?” Jeeves said.

“What a doomsday prophet you are, Jeeves!” I cried. “They will have to force me at gunpoint to marry, and even then, I shall do so with a promise to off myself before I must enter a bedroom with the girl. And as long as I am unmarried, I require a valet.”

Jeeves was about to protest further, I have no doubt, but I sprang to my feet. “I won't hear another word, Jeeves! I love you, and if we have to move to the remotest part of the Andes to live together, then so be it.”

Jeeves' eye – I say eye because I could only see the one; the other was still hidden behind the cold compress – fastened on me. “How is it, sir, that you can throw yourself so wholeheartedly into this without fear of failure? I hope I am no coward, and yet I am petrified at the prospect of living in this madness for the rest of my life.”

“Well, faint heart never won fair valet,” I replied. “The first time I kissed you, Jeeves, I was terrified. But you've already said you love me. Did you mean it?”

“I did, sir. I've fallen in love with you.”

“Then come aunts or thunderstorms, the last of the Woosters will never be afraid of anything ever again!” I declared with laughter.

Jeeves loved me! For the first time since I felt the stirrings of admiration for my valet, I knew he cared for me. Half of it could have braced an army of Bertrams, so naturally, the whole situation gave me the distinct impression that I could have sprouted wings and taken flight if I'd wanted to.

Finally, Jeeves took the wet cloth away from his eye and met my gaze. I was ashamed to notice that he would have quite a shiner there tomorrow; the skin was already looking bruised and dark.

“I am sorry, sir. For everything that has transpired, and for my lack of courage in this,” he said.

I went to him, put my hands carefully on his cheeks, and pressed my lips gently to his. Jeeves kissed me back, and for a few, silent moments, we were simply kissing each other in that tiny cottage. Then my hand brushed Jeeves' bruised eye, and he hissed in pain.

“Oh, Jeeves, I'm so sorry!” I groaned. “You're going to have such a black eye tomorrow; what an ass I've been...”

“Undoubtedly I deserved it, sir,” Jeeves said drily.

He rose and pulled me close to him, and I pressed my face against his neck. He smelled wonderfully Jeevesian, just like he always did, but more so because he was mine now. He could argue all he wanted; when Jeeves loved me and I loved Jeeves, then there was nothing for it but to love on and enjoy how perfect the world could be.

Jeeves' arms came around me in a comforting hug, and he sighed again. “I'm afraid the madness has already taken hold, sir. I cannot refuse you. Those brief hours we spent apart were enough to make me... miss you.”

“Then call me Bertie and hop into the two-seater with me; let's leg it back to London this instant!” I cried.

“It's almost midnight, sir,” Jeeves said. “I couldn't advocate driving at this hour. But there is a serviceable, if somewhat narrow, bed in this cottage. We would be able to journey back to London quite early tomorrow morning.”

“You didn't call me Bertie,” I pointed out.

“No, s... Bertie. It is a matter of habit, I'm sure. Do you truly want me to call you by your given name?” Jeeves asked.

“Why, would you rather call me sir?”

“I couldn't say; I have always thought of you as Mr Wooster -”

I grinned impishly at Jeeves. “And now you shall think of me as your lover,” I said with finality. “Call me whatever you like, Jeeves, as long as you'll take me to bed.”

Jeeves' cheeks paled. “I couldn't... Can you forgive me, sir?”

The eyes went round, I don't mind telling you. “Forgive you, Jeeves? Whatever for?”

“For being more concerned with the pleasure our arrangement afforded me, than your happiness, sir. I saw how it affected you, but I was ignorant enough to imagine it was not causing you any real harm, as I never knew how painful such emotions can... Forgive me, sir, if you can, and I will endeavour to deserve it,” Jeeves said. He kissed my lips very lightly.

“Jeeves, stop saying such things,” I protested. “I hardly recognize you when you're so meek and... and whatsit. I won't have it. Let us agree that all is forgotten and forgiven, what? And now you must show me this bed. If it is very narrow, we shall have to sleep very close together.”

Jeeves' lips threatened to quirk upwards at the corner. “Your forgiving nature never ceases to astound me, sir. And the bed is this way.”

There was only one other room in the cottage, containing the aforementioned bed. It wasn't quite as narrow as a cot, but it was by no means large enough for two grown men. I was wondering where on earth our arms and legs would go when Jeeves pressed against my back and placed a delicate kiss on the nape of my neck.

“Bertie,” he whispered. “Do you wish me to pleasure you with my mouth? I confess I am hesitant to take advantage of your kindness, but if you will accept my touch -”

“Oh, rather!” I said eagerly. “That is to say, I bally well will accept your touch, Jeeves, but I was rather hoping for a little more. Do you think you could possibly... well... that thing you do so well when I'm on my knees in front of you?”

Jeeves had made me see stars so often in that particular posish, I was rather eager to try it again.

Jeeves removed my hat and jacket, and stood in front of me to unbutton my waistcoat. I tried to help him, but our hands bumped into each other and I think I was more of a hindrance.

“Would it be too much, sir, to ask that you lie on your back this time?” Jeeves asked, unfastening my braces and tie. He didn't meet my eyes.

“Of course not, old thing,” I told him firmly. I ducked my head to meet his gaze – Jeeves is a little taller than me, so this wheeze worked excellently. “Are you going to be meek and whatsit again? Jeeves, I love you. Anything that you wish to do to me in bed will be fine with me.”

“And I love you, sir,” Jeeves said. He sounded very hesitant, indeed. “But so far, I have always been in control of our intimate encounters. I wish to 'even the score', as they say. I insist that you remain completely in charge of our lovemaking from here on.”

My heart swelled to roughly the size of an airship, and certain unmentionable parts of my anatomy surged with desire. I knew exactly what I wanted from my man.

“Jeeves, you marvellous thing,” I said, “I want you to roger me properly. Now let's get our togs off, and then you may have me any way you wish – front, back or sideways. I dare say I shall enjoy it no matter which way I end up lying.”

That caused Jeeves to kiss me rather forcefully. Eager to participate in the disrobing, I pulled at everything I could reach, succeeding only in untucking Jeeves' shirt. To this day, I'm still not certain who removed what vestment, but the end game was still the same: Jeeves and I were naked and crawling into the little bed.

“Do you have the oil, Jeeves?” I asked. I didn't pay much attention to the answer as I was very busy touching Jeeves' chest reverently, so I was rather surprised when Jeeves produced a small jar of something or other.

“Vaseline, sir,” Jeeves clarified.

“Oh. Rocky used that stuff, too – I mean, quite. Quite. Carry on, Jeeves,” I stuttered. It hadn't been my intention to introduce the Rocky Todd motif, and certainly not when Jeeves had already told me he was jealous of the chap.

“Sir...” Jeeves leaned in to kiss my neck gently. “I must ask. Do you harbour any romantic feelings for Mr Todd?”

“By Jove! No, of course not, Jeeves. I like Rocky well enough, but I'm not in love with him. I never have been, either,” I reassured him. “But a man isn't made of steel, what? Occasionally, one finds oneself in need of... company.”

Jeeves looked hesitant again. I squirmed my way to the mattress, lying down on my back.

“Jeeves, I can promise you that I feel nothing for Rocky Todd. I love you and only you. Rocky is a finished chapter in the Wooster chronicles, and said c. shall never be re-read.”

This seemed to satisfy Jeeves, and he followed me down to the mattress to kiss me again, properly on the lips this time. “I am relieved to hear it. Now, if you desire me to, as you say, roger you, then I believe you shall have to open your legs for me, Bertie.”

“I say,” I said with a grin. Jeeves settled himself between my legs, and the little pot of Vaseline was opened.

As Jeeves began preparing me thoroughly with the cool jelly, I reflected that his touch felt new and unfamiliar. He had touched me, kissed me, buggered me so many times before, and yet on this occ. it felt completely different. When I realized the difference lay in the absence of emotional pain, I admit the eyes became somewhat misty once more.

“Sir?” Jeeves asked, and his fingers left me. “Bertie, are you well?”

“What?” I asked. “Oh, yes, Jeeves, fine. Excellent. Please, don't stop.”

“Sir, you are holding back tears.”

“But they're not... It's just because I'm happy, Jeeves! You're not doing anything wrong; please keep doing... that.”

Jeeves' fingers had been resting ever so lightly against my inner thigh while we spoke, but he quickly moved them back to stroke my length a few times.

“I hope, sir, that you will tell me the moment I do something that displeases you? I can only pray you have always done so; I could never forgive myself if I had abused your trust,” Jeeves said intently. “Sir, please believe me when I tell you that when you were drunk and asked me to come to your bed, I did nothing which did not please you. I would never have -”

“Jeeves!” I cried. “Jeeves, you're positively babbling! I trust you with my life, old thing, but is this really the time to dreg out old misunderstandings?”

Jeeves expelled a shaky breath and pressed close to kiss me again. “Forgive me, sir. I must attribute it to apprehension.”

“But we've made love dozens of times,” I protested.

“No, sir,” Jeeves said. He scooped out more jelly and applied it to my skin. “I've never before made love to anyone. I imagine there is some significant difference between fucking and making love.”

“Well, making love certainly takes much longer,” I said with a small laugh. “Really, Jeeves, don't trouble yourself so with the mess we made of things. Just get on with the buggering. I've had quite enough of this teasing, man!”

Jeeves laid down over me, and the intensity of his gaze as he met my eyes, rather rattled me. Then I felt his hardness press against me, and I placed my hands on his shoulders.

“Are you ready, sir?” Jeeves murmured.

I replied by slipping my arms around his neck and shoulder, and wrapping my legs about his hips. As he pressed against my opening, I pulled him closer to me, and he slid inside. He moaned, and his breath was hot on my neck.

“Jeeves,” I gasped. “This feels... so lovely. Please. Move. Take me.”

Jeeves kissed my ear, then he kissed my jaw, and then my mouth. His hips were rocking slowly against mine, and I clung to him. Jeeves' body, so much more solid than my own, felt like heaven itself over me. I could feel the muscle in his back flex and ripple under my touch.

“If you only knew, Bertie,” Jeeves whispered, “how this affects me.”

Jeeves was leaning on his elbows next to my ribs, and he kept his face either pressed to my neck or raised so he could kiss me. Our bodies were so much closer to each other than when we had done this before, and Jeeves' movements deeper and somehow more complete.

Jeeves was right, I thought. There was a world of difference between this and what he called fucking.

“Harder, Jeeves,” I begged, pushing my hips against his own. “Please, Jeeves, I want to feel you taking me for your own.”

Jeeves groaned and locked his lips to mine. He pushed up on his hands, and I had to let go of his shoulders. With his eyes still locked on my own, he began pushing into me with more strength, more force than before. I cried out and clutched at the pillow beneath my head, watching the magnificent creature that was Jeeves in lust over me.

Jeeves in love, my heart reminded me, and I felt dizzy.

The familiar surges of heat running through my body were building up, and I clenched around Jeeves. “More,” I gasped. “I need... touch me?”

Jeeves' hand was on my prick in seconds, and I gasped his name. As soon as he touched me, I felt my climax approaching and I bucked in his grip. “Almost,” I whimpered. “Jeeves!”

Jeeves' face was flushed, his mouth open and panting. He looked down at me with unguarded desire, rampant and demanding. The sight shattered the last of my composure; with a shout of delirious pleasure, I climaxed and spent myself in his grip. My body drew him in as I shuddered around him.

Jeeves' brow furrowed slightly and he grunted in pleasure. “Oh, sir!”

Jeeves took hold of my legs, and hooked his elbows under my knees. This caused my body to open further to him, and my limbs shook under the strain of being contorted like this. When he next sank into me, he pushed deeper than ever and the tip of him barely brushed that spot that has me seeing stars.

I arched my back to get closer to him. “Jeeves!”

“Sir, I must... Please... Bertie!”

Jeeves cried out then; a wordless sound that made my heart clench again with love for this wonderful man. Breathing like he had run the eighty yards dash, Jeeves thrust hard against me throughout his own crest of pleasure, quaking not a little. As he sank down to kiss me again, I could feel the heat of his release in me. I may have blushed, though I would not have sworn to it.

“Oh, Jeeves,” I murmured, petting his dishevelled hair. His brow was resting against my sternum, and the heat of him was surrounding me completely. He had never been so lovely, I decided.

“Sir,” Jeeves gasped. “I... I love you.”

I smiled to the ceiling. I would never grow tired of hearing him confess that. And I vowed I would tell him I loved him, too, until he no longer considered love an ailment. Seeing as Jeeves is so intelligent, it couldn't take forever, what?

“I love you to bits, old thing,” I told him, still stroking his hair. “And I insist that from here on, we sleep in the same bed. No more of this returning to your own quarters nonsense, what?”

“No, sir,” Jeeves agreed. He raised himself enough to pull his member out of my sated body, then laid down on me again. “I believe it would be a pleasure to share your bed, if you let me.”

“Well, if your bed is anything like this one, Jeeves, we shall have to share my bed. Golly, I don't think I've ever felt so much like a sardine in a can,” I said.

“I agree that the accommodations are somewhat limited. Come, sir,” Jeeves said, smiling at me. “I believe the floor will be far more serviceable.”

“The floor, Jeeves?” I asked, but Jeeves was a man of his word. He took the mattress out of the narrow bed, and gathered up every last blanket, pillow or other piece of fabric in the little cottage. Though our feet protruded beyond the edge of the mattress, at least there was room for the both of us in the little nest Jeeves had made.

“And tomorrow we return to the metrop., what?” I asked, curled around Jeeves' side and snuggling against his broad chest.

“Indeed, sir,” Jeeves assured me. A soft kiss found its way to my temple. “I believe your clothes are in dire need of ironing.”

I chuckled. “Well, I didn't have time to change into the brown Harris tweed before the journey, Jeeves. I had to catch up with you before you got your ticket to Italy.”

Jeeves sighed. “I am curious, sir – how did you find me?”

“Well, first I asked the chap at the train station if he'd seen you,” I explained. “He told me you had bought a ticket to Kings Deverill. So I drove here, and talked to your uncle Charlie.”

Jeeves' frame stiffened against mine. “My uncle disclosed my location?”

“Well, only after a great deal of persuasion,” I said. “I mean to say, I told him it was my intention to beg you on bended knee to return to my service. I believe mention of a cottage by the sea was also made.”

Jeeves gave a breath of laughter. “I suspect he knew exactly what had transpired between us, even before I admitted I had left your service. My uncle Charlie has always been a perceptive man.”

“Oh, rather! He threatened to set the police on me, if I didn't leave you alone,” I said. “But you don't want me to leave you alone, do you, Jeeves?”

“Never, sir,” Jeeves said, so softly it could well have been imagination.

***

The drive back to London was a dashed sight more pleasant than the drive to Kings Deverill. Jeeves and I made plans for a visit to Brighton the following summer, but we didn't say much beyond that. Occasionally, I would grin at Jeeves, and he would repay me with the subtlest smirk he could muster.

“I say, Jeeves,” I began, “you're not going to let me wear that tie with the turquoise polka dots, just as a celebration?”

“A celebration, sir?”

“Of our happy ending,” I explained. “It's such a festive tie.”

Jeeves looked severe. “I am sorry, sir, but that tie is utterly revolting.”

I sighed. “Very well, Jeeves.”

A warm hand landed on my thigh, and I looked at Jeeves to find him smiling ever so slightly at me. “But I could possibly see my way to allow its appearance on your birthday, sir, if you will agree not to wear it for the remainder of the year.”

I laughed out loud at the delightful feelings this brought out in me. “Jeeves, you are a specific dream rabbit,” I said. “And I am very happy that the madness has taken its toll on your sartorial sensitivities.”

“As am I, sir,” said Jeeves. “Very happy indeed.”


End file.
